Nine point Four Seconds The Story of Geek Carter
by selmak
Summary: In Ripple Effect, Geek!Carter stood out from the rest of the multiples Carters due to her snazzy cardigan and her glasses. This is her story. Warning: if you thought Black Ops SG1 team was strange, they were only 3.4 seconds.
1. Chapter 1

**_Title: _**_9.4 Seconds (One of The Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

_**Rating:** _MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussions include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

**_Pairings:_**

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach.

I think that's a compliment?

**_

* * *

_**_We're part of a metaverse in which individual sub-universes are continually being generated. Our own experience with the Quantum Mirror proved this much. Realities can exist where we never defeated the Goa'uld or the Stargate program went public. Now while it may feel immediate, the journey between gates is not instantaneous, Jack. It takes on average zero point three seconds travel time. However, according to the gate diagnostics, the travel time for another SG-1 team clocked in at three point four seconds, suggesting a significantly longer trip._

_Get to the point, Hank, I hear you growling. _

_Thirty seven different versions of SG1 have finally returned to their own appropriate verses after a proper sendoff from Star Gate Command today. Some long gone familiar faces were seen replacing members of the current verse's current SG1. Instead of Lt. Colonel Carter, Lt. Colonel Mitchell, Dr. Jackson and Teal'c, there were teams that had Martouf, Narim, Colonel Jack O'Neill (yes, Jack, that means in some universes, I outrank you!), Janet Fraiser, Shau're, Jacob-Selmak, even THOR as a member. Least I think it was Thor, as they all look the same to me.  
_

_And the most unusual Team by far was the 10.9 second team led by Marine Colonel Samantha Carter and her team which consisted of Major Janet Fraiser, Captain Caroline Lam and Navy medic Maria Brightman. We ended up having to separate that team from the rest of the alters as that team wanted to kill me and attempted to lead the other alters in a rebellion against me. While the Black Ops SG1 wanted to save their universe, the 10.9 team just wanted me or at least a part of me.  
_

_ Apparently, I'm not very liked in that Universe as I owed three of them years of back child support. The four harpies wanted a pound of flesh from me that I wasn't prepared to give, and while I'm unmarried, one day I might want to use that piece of equipment again. _

_But probably the strangest story was the nine point four seconds Dr. Carter, who needed to get back to her universe ASAP because she was close to being grounded for the next few months from Gate Travel. Nice girl, not quite as tough as our Colonel Carter, but one of these days, when I meet you and George in private, I'll have to tell you her story, especially who her husband was!_

_You won't believe it! _

_Trust me, if her husband hadn't been there to confirm the information, I would have laughed my stars off! As it was, I truly expected her husband to punch me when he confirmed that he had married Samantha Carter and that she was pregnant. And it wasn't their first kid, not by a long shot! _

_Don't worry, Jack, it wasn't you, so you won't have to worry about her showing up one day wanting child support. _

_Hank Landry, Major General reporting to General O'Neill about the recent events of "Ripple Effect"

* * *

_

Geek!Girl Samantha with the glasses and her team clocked in at nine point four seconds.

Some things appear to be universal constants. McKay has an ego bigger than the metaverse in all his incarnations. Even the metaverse won't ever allow him the chance to be an Action Hero, as after all that would be pushing the laws of physics just a tad too much.

And sadly, Samantha Carter always has a thing for the leader of whatever version of SG1 she's in. Irregardless of whether it's Teal'c, Janet, Martouf, Narim, Daniel, Jonas or Jack, the leader of SG-1 makes Samantha Carter's heart beat faster.

In this story, it's just too darn bad that Jack's a General.

* * *

Colonel George Hammond, ex-Black Ops, Widower, and The General All Around Most Miserable Person in the SGC to be Stuck in an Elevator With according to the SGC's Bookie Sly Siler's latest betting pool, stared in disbelief at the geeks that were infiltrating the SGC. Some sweater-clad geekette with glasses and some slacker with even thicker glasses were standing goggled-eyed at the military personnel surrounding. There were even a couple geeks that looked rather pissy and self-absorbed. 

Brigadier Jack O'Neill was leading the tour of the geeks, and to Hammond's intense disgust, Jack and the nerdlings stopped in front of him. O'Neill was smirking, which meant he was playing a joke on someone, and more than likely, that meant that Colonel Hammond was the joke.

"This is Colonel Hammond; he's my right arm man here at the SGC. He'll be instructing you in the arts of self-defense and survival."

Hammond nodded an acknowledgement, and he noticed that his aloof reaction was having the appropriate reaction among the geeks. The sweater wearing girl's smile faded and she looked apprehensively at the geek with the thick glasses standing next to her for support. Having put far too many years in the service to lose everything, especially with his empty retirement finally drawing into sight, he didn't spit his contempt and derision for the geeks at O'Neill's feet, though he was sorely tempted. Instead, Hammond nodded his head once.

Sometimes, he **_hated_** the younger man.

Yeah, the thick scars that ran parallel up and down the lengths of his forearms had faded somewhat… but to one and to all, psych reports be damned, Colonel George Hammond was Damaged Goods, and the only person in the universe that was willing to take him on as a 2IC was the quirky Brigadier General named Jack O'Neill.

For that, he knew he owed Jack O'Neill **_everything_**, including his self-respect and his sanity, but Goddamn it, he should be the one wearing the stars on his shoulders, not the fickle, mercurial puzzle known as Jack O'Neill.

George had no understanding on why the hell O'Neill had agreed to take him.

At one time, George had been the picture perfect officer. Respected, a highly decorated Black Ops, once, he had been an asset to the military. Sometimes, he wondered what would have been if he hadn't ended up in the Iraqi Prison Camp for a year, if he hadn't come back home to a hero's welcome in which he discovered his grief stricken wife had gone out of remission and had died from cancer, all the while believing that he had been KIA… if his family hadn't been killed by a drunk driver on the way to his wife's funeral.

What would have happened, if someone had informed him of the news, trying to cushion the agonizing blow, to soften the incomprehensibility of having lost… **_everything_**… instead of learning about their deaths by eavesdropping on his shrink?

Hell, he didn't even have the wedding ring that she had put on his finger all those many years, proclaiming to the universe that he was her personal property. No, the Iraqis had taken it from him when they finally found it, then they had beaten him near senseless because he had hidden it from them.

If he still had that one piece of her… that one… solitary item… that he could touch, that he could actually… feel…he probably wouldn't have cracked like an egg.

Savagely, he crushed the memories, not wanting to look at them too closely.

Yeah, he had a standing weekly appointment with Colonel Mackenzie, the shrink he called **_Mack the Quack_**, but he still had no idea what happened during that period when his sanity had cracked. One moment his world had shattered around him, and the next he had found himself on a stretcher, dazedly watching the ceiling tiles fade in and out of view while being raced down to the Emergency Room, even as the medics frantically applied direct pressure to his forearms, shrilly screaming that he was bleeding out.

The docs had patched him up, slapped him on the back, and wished him luck after the Medical Evaluation Board and the Physical Evaluation Board decided that he was still fit for duty. Yeah, he was 'fit' for duty, but nobody… and he meant **_Nobody_** had wanted a reticent, senior officer who always wore long sleeves, no matter what the temperature, so to keep prying eyes off his self-inflicted scars.

Hell, he had **_no_** goddamn clue why O'Neill had insisted on keeping him as his 2IC when they managed to get the Stairway to Heaven working…. Or whatever the hell they were calling it this week. He made a mental note to check with Siler to see what the top picks of names in the betting pool were this week.

Didn't matter much, in his mind, he just called it the great Stellar Sphincter.

He wondered what it would be like to go through that blue pool. So far they were just shooting a lot of anal probes through the Sphincter while the Pentagon decided what the hell they wanted to do with the technology.

Maybe, just maybe, if he crawled far enough on his hands and feet, licked enough boots, they'd send him through that Sphincter… and if he was lucky, he'd find the death he had been denied.

"Sgt. Siler, take Drs. Carter and Dr. Jackson down to the infirmary, as Dr. Fraiser will check them out. Colonel Hammond, I want to talk to you," O'Neill ordered, derailing George's train of thought.

Jack O'Neill flashed him a crooked grin, and Hammond nodded his head. Like the dutiful bird dog he was, he trotted after the General, several steps behind the General, much like Prince Philip and the Queen.

* * *

"George, take a seat," Jack ordered.

He did so, and he waited for Jack to lower the boom. Saying nothing, because there was nothing on his end to be said, except for an insincere, "I'd be DELIGHTED, Sir!", he waited patiently for Jack to stop fiddling with his chair. Hammond's light blues eyes wandered over the assorted various pictures of Jack, Sarah and their happy brood that were sprinkled on the wall, not even wasting the energy to hate the fates for what had been taken from him.

What was the total now? Four, five… maybe a dozen O'Neill kids?

No. Four were out of the womb and Sarah was having twins this time. **_Shit_**. You'd think at his age, Jack would know better. The General was forty five years old, only five years his junior. This must have been a surprise.

Yes, as he pondered the thought, the timing was about right. It appeared that General O'Neill and the missus had gotten sloshed at Msgt. O'Brien's farewell party and had themselves a big ole whoops. Or else Sarah knew about O'Neill's multiple affairs and decided to really stick it to him.

"The geeks need to be space and survival ready. They need to know how to defend themselves and how to shoot," O'Neill explained.

George nodded his head, glad to have an excuse not to examine the O'Neills' marital relationship too closely, because he couldn't comprehend how **_any_** man could be unfaithful to the woman he had sworn before God to love, honor and cherish until death parted you. And technically, George could still swear on the Bible that at this moment, he loved, honored and cherished his late wife above all others.

But Hammond didn't say anything, because he knew how this was heading.

"You're my miracle worker, George," Jack said with a saucy smile. "Get the geeks through modified basic training, as they'll be going through the Stargate with the teams. I don't want to send them out to the wild blue yonder as sitting ducks. They need to able to pull their own weight, and they need to able to defend themselves."

Again he nodded his head, not wanting to give Jack the satisfaction of seeing him discomforted by the news. He'd rather slam his hand in the door repeatedly than deal with the geeks. Christ, basic training? Why the hell didn't Jack give that job to one of the NCOs?

"George, you do know what that means don't you?" Jack questioned.

He nodded his head as the reason why Jack was giving him this awesome responsibility abruptly became crystal clear in his mind. O'Neill wasn't just a screw up, he was a fucking sadistic bastard, Hammond decided.

Which meant that he, George Hammond, was a masochist, as George always came crawling back for more. Every day he came back to lick more boots, as he feared what would happen the day he was petitioned off as too old, leaving him with absolutely no reason to get out of bed in the morning. He was coming far too quickly upon thirty years in and with no chance of promotion in sight; he'd be given the boot.

On the first day of the month after the month in which the officer completes 30 years of commissioned service... That thought came to mind, closely followed by what would happen on the second day of the month after the month in which this particular officer completed 30 years of commissioned service… and he wondered how long it would take before they found his body.

After all, he had **_no_** friends.

No one ever called him to invite him out for a quick game of pool.

Hell, nobody even sent him a goddamn email chain letter, because who the hell would the Crazy Colonel be able to forward them?

He never saw his neighbors, so it might be months before someone noticed the stink of his decaying body.

"Colonel, that means you're going to actually have to talk to the rooks," O'Neill explained. "Verbal instructions. You'll have to actually open your mouth and instruct them."

"Yes, Sir!" George answered quickly.

He was dismissed, and he decided that he'd need to eat something before he met the rooks.

* * *

Naturally, George sat alone in the dining room. 

If the entire room was full, and everyone had to sit in each other's laps, he'd still have a table for four open as most people didn't like dealing with him due to the highly infectious, much feared disease known as "Complete Mental Snap". So while he was industriously mashing something that looked like potatoes into submission with his fork, he was surprised when he was joined by someone. Fortunately, he was busy smashing his spuds to release some of his inner tension, because God help him if Mack the Quack ever saw him obsessively and compulsively rubbing his ring finger again.

His wedding ring **_physically_** might not be there… but damn it, psychically, spiritually, emotionally, it was there, and it wasn't ever coming off. The only time Mack the Quack saw him rubbing his finger during a particularly stressful moment, had led to three weeks of twice daily sessions in which Mackie quacked about rituals, repetitive actions and the damaged psyche.

Ah, it was Doctor Janet Fraiser, his fuck buddy. Whenever his demons were riding him too hard, and he couldn't take another lonely night in his bed, she'd take him to his bed, ride him hard, ride him wet, and hang him up to dry, leaving him with nothing resembling pride left but his physical ache eased.

The good doctor was probably the closest thing he had to a friend, but he wouldn't use that term for their… relationship. Everyone thought Janet Fraiser was a sweet, compassionate angel, but he knew her, and accepted her for the sadist that she was. Their couplings… or making **_HATE_** as he sardonically called it, consisted of Janet abusing the hell out of him until he came.

After his stint in the Iraqi Prison and all the psychotropic drugs he was on, his head and his body were so screwed up that the first time he had tried to bed Janet Fraiser, he couldn't get his tray in the upright and locked position.

George had tried, God knows he had tried, to be gentle with Janet on their first night together, wanting to prove to himself, if nobody else, that somewhere down deep, the old George was still there, and fighting to regain control.

George had been surprised that his deeply traumatized soul had craved the chance to actually… emotionally connect with another person, when to his complete bewilderment one afternoon; Janet Fraiser had asked him to share her bed for the night. Rationally, he should have cursed her out and told to stop joking as he wasn't her own personal source of amusement, but instead he had softly stuttered, "I'd be d-d-delighted…"

That entire experience had been a lesson in frustration and futility from the moment he arrived at her doorstep, nervously clutching a tacky bouquet of flowers he had bought at a shopping market because he was halfway to her house when he realized that he **_should_** bring her something. If what was occuring was a honest to God date, George really needed something. Janet had met him at the door, wearing nothing more than a see-through peignoir, and her boldness had startled him in being shyer than his norm.

George had wanted nothing more than to put his head in her lap and have her massage his aching temples…much like his wife had often done. Janet would talk and he'd listen as she soothed his soul with a gentle touch. He yearned for another human being to touch him gently as it had been far too long since Angie…

When the Iraqi guards tired of kicking him in the back and his gut with their steel toed boots, he had crawled to a corner of his cell, all the while holding tightly onto to memories of Angie in his mind. When it got real bad, sometimes he day dream that he'd make it home, where he could sit on the floor, and rest his aching head on her knee while she massaged his head and neck. But no matter how bad it had gotten, and God knows it had gotten really bad; he remained focused on getting home, so he could see his dear Angie again. She had been sick with cancer, but she had been in remission for three years before he landed in that Iraqi Cell, so he had refused to even consider the fact that she wouldn't be there waiting for him when he came home.

After George had been freed, he held onto that hope that his wife would be there to greet him, with open arms. But he had realized quickly that something was terribly wrong, as no one answer his questions about where Angie was. He thought that maybe Angie had declared him dead, that she had married another during the year that he was gone, and while that hurt, he could have dealt with that. But the bitter truth was far, far worse than that.

He had been such a fool, stupidly hoping that the reason for the unexpected invite was because Janet had seen some worthy trait in him that was hidden deep beneath his scarred visage, the physical blemishes he wore and the emotional traumas he had endured.

Stupid, stupid fool that he was, desperate in his desire to be held and touched by another human being, he **_knew_** how Janet was, yet still, he had hoped for more. No surprise to him to find out what she had wanted was another notch on her bedpost and she had decided to do the Crazy Colonel just for shits and giggles.

No surprise, none at all, but still… disappointing.

His efforts at gentle caresses had been virginally awkward and he had stuttered and stumbled over the soft, caring words he had practiced repeatedly in his car because George **_knew _**that the cold-hearted bitch was inwardly laughing at him and unfavorably comparing him to the silver-tongued Jack O'Neill.

Yet he stayed, goddamn it, he had stayed, just wanting to feel close to somebody…. Anyone…. Even **_Janet Fraiser_**….

Then his body had just refused to cooperate.

His ego shattered, his self-respect in shreds, George had gotten out of her bed, grabbed his pants and attempted to flee the scene of the crime with all due haste. If the fact he couldn't get it up, and keep it up hadn't already angered the good doctor, the fact that he was running for the hills really pissed her off. Fraiser had cursed him out, harsh words were said on both parts, and then things got ugly. The next thing he knew, they were having earth quaking, bed slat breaking, bed sheet tearing sex in her bed.

When it was over, and Janet was sleeping off their physical altercation, George had been deeply ashamed to realize that he was in tears. He had wiped his eyes roughly, tried to keep his rapidly fraying emotional control from completely unraveling, when he had felt Janet snuggle closer to him.

"Don't be ashamed, George. You don't realize how much it means to me that you tried so hard to be gentle with me, and how you obviously wanted me to enjoy tonight. The guys I've been with lately… they don't really care about my enjoyment…all they want is a quick fuck and they're out of here."

"You deserve better," George stated. "Better than them, and certainly better than me."

"George… you must have been one hell of a man…" Janet paused.

"Before I went nuts," he finished her question bitterly.

"Before the Iraqis got you," Janet whispered. "George, you're simply not wired for compassion anymore. They took what was good about you, and they twisted it into something darker, but that's ok, George… I can handle pain and darkness just fine. For me, it's enough to know that you wanted to and you tried…"

They had fucked repeatedly after that little tender declaration, through the night and until the early AM when the dawn was streaming through her window. There was no love, no tenderness, no softly spoken lies about love, fidelity and devotion between the two of them. What they had was rough, violent, and **_ugly_**.

It was all of which he was capable… and all that he deserved because… the fact that he kept coming back for more abuse was so wrong on so many different levels. Fraiser delighted in her control over him, that she had him more and more sensitized and responsive to various fetishes. Sometimes, in the early hours when he couldn't sleep because he refused to take those little pills that Mack kept throwing at him, he'd stare at the ceiling, and obsess about how if Janet Fraiser actually gave a damn about him, she'd actually be attempting to help him work through his sexual hang-ups, not give him a dozen assorted new ones in various shapes and sizes.

He didn't need Mack the Quack to tell him that the simple reason he kept coming back for more was because he was fooling himself that one night, he'd do something right for Janet and she'd actually care about him as a person, rather than a willing fuck partner. That the twisted wreck of a man known as George Hammond was so lonely and so desperate for human companionship that he'd take a number and wait his turn to service Janet Fraiser.

There were all too brief, precious moments, usually right after she screamed out his name, while Janet was writhing uncontrollably underneath him and clawing his back hard enough to break his skin, that he'd pretend for a few minutes that she was fond of him.

As for Janet, finding her naked brother in the arms of her husband… well… that explained why the good doctor had a slight chip on her shoulder with regards to anything with a dick.

He knew exactly why the hell she took his Damaged Goods to her bed. Pissed off that Jack had gone back to Sara after the Great and Totally Unexpected Conception of the Latest O'Neill Brats had occurred After Jack had Promised that He Really Was Getting a Divorce This Time, Janet delighted in rubbing her numerous affairs with Jack's subordinates into a liver gnawing, fuming General O'Neill's face.

If Jack brought her up on charges, she'd just drop that little bombshell about their longtime affair into the proceedings.

The day after their first coupling, George had been drinking coffee in the cafeteria, deep in thought and trying not to look too closely at the previous night's tawdry activities when Janet had deliberately run her fingers over his neatly shorn scalp. He had been surprised by that and had nearly spit his coffee out, which naturally amused Janet due to her deep seated need to be in complete control.

"Giddyup, Cowboy," she said in her most seductive tones, before pitching her voice a little higher. She did it deliberately, wanting to be overheard by someone. "You're such a bad boy… I'm gonna have to buy a new riding crop. I can't believe I snapped it in half on you. You've got rather resilient skin."

Then in a more professional tone.

"Oh, hello, General O'Neill. How are you doing? I'm a little…. **_Sore_**…this morning. I must have slept wrong last night. My back hurts…thighs… I don't even think I could close my legs even if you ordered me to do so as I pulled a muscle or three. See you later, Colonel." Janet possessively rubbed the back of his head once more, deliberately marking him as her property in front of the General before sauntering out of the cafeteria.

O'Neill sat down next to him, and the General sighed.

"George… I'm not being official right now…but our dear Doctor will mind fuck you something fierce if you're not careful," O'Neill said quietly. "You're a good man, Hammond… You've been through hell enough for three men already; don't let her add to it."

He always thought about that warning, especially times like now, when Janet wore a smirk. To be safe, he nodded an acknowledgement of her presence. Unlike most people, Janet didn't care if he spoke or not.

"My place or yours?" She purred seductively before she deliberately ran her hand up and down his inner thigh and gave him a very friendly squeeze. "I think you'll need some relaxation after you deal with the kiddies."

Gesturing with his hand to signify his choice, he knew what Janet would say before she opened her mouth.

"My place it is then. Seven?"

He nodded and Janet sighed, "One of these days, George, I want to see your apartment. It can't be that messy."

"And make you pack up all your toys?" He quipped dryly before he flashed her a brief smile.

"You should smile more often, George," Janet said seriously. "Makes you look younger."

"I ain't got nothing worth smiling about," he retorted.

* * *

After lunch, he had to report back to General O'Neill's office. The General had outdone himself as he had written up a syllabus for Basic Training Suitable for Geeks. George flipped through it and then he shook his head when he saw the subject matter for day nineteen. 

"**_No_**," he said loudly.

O'Neill knew him too well as he knew what subject had elicited that firm denial.

"They need to know what could happen to them out there, Colonel," O'Neill stated calmly.

"That you get put in a goddamn four by six cell and get the shit beaten out of you for a year. And when you get home, you find out that everything that kept you sane while you were in that little box was dead and long buried? Do you want me to roll up my sleeves and show them all how well I handled that? I will **_not_** be your goddamn freak show, General."

O'Neill gave him a long look and then ordered him to shut up and sit down.

"Colonel Hammond, I appreciate your concerns. But the fact of the matter is I'm a fuck up as a General. You know it, I know it, and the Pentagon knows it. They put me here to keep an eye on that piece of inert alien technology and then somehow it started working. I have a chance here, Colonel, to prove myself, and if that means, I need Mackenzie in that classroom ready to sedate you so you can prepare those rooks for what they might face out there, so I don't fuck this chance up, Mackenzie will be there. You owe me, Hammond, as I was the only one willing to give you a chance…."

The General ranted for a bit and then he paused. George nodded his head and then asked one single question.

"So that's the reason why you took me on as your 2IC…." Hammond drawled slowly, willing that news not to hurt, but damn it, how the truth scored his scarred soul.

If a world… no universal class fuck up like General Jonathan O'Neill and the sadist known as Fraiser had nothing but contempt for him… maybe he would have been better off dying in that prison.

Where had his life gone so completely wrong? When had he become such a victim of derision and contempt from two fucking people he wouldn't have given the time of day to before his little mental snap? Would Angie have ever married such a complete fucking waste of space?

**_My dearest Angie, for the first time, I'm so glad that you're dead. I'd hate for you to see how low I've fallen. _**

"A fuck up for a general and a nut for his 2IC. And we are the ones keeping Earth safe. God fucking help us."

"George," O'Neill interrupted quickly. "I've never thought that you're crazy."

"Doesn't matter," George admitted slowly, his thick Texas accent gruff with emotion. "Everyone else on the base thinks it. I acknowledge what I owe you… but I ask… if I can't do it… don't order me to do it… please."

His voice slowed and to his shame, his voice nearly broke. God, he was falling apart again, showing weaknesses that could be exploited to both Fraiser and O'Neill, both of whom would be more than ready and willing to turn those Achilles' heels against him.

"This position, it's all I got… don't make me bawl like a calf looking for its mamma in front of everyone. You know they all think I'm nuts…don't destroy what little respect they have for me…"

Damn it to hell, he was rubbing his ring finger, obsessively, compulsively, that single-minded repetitive ritual trying to ease his soul. Deliberately, he stopped caressing his hand, and then he looked at General O'Neill. The younger man looked ill at ease and yet conciliatory all at the same time.

"George…I've spoken to Mackenzie about this. He believes that you overseeing the training of the geeks will be good for you. You'll have to deal with a variety of different people with different skills and most importantly, you'll need to open your mouth and instruct them. There is a wealth of knowledge in that bald head of yours, George, and your experience in that prison might ensure that those people make it out alive."

* * *

"How did it go?" Janet questioned. 

They were in Janet's bed after a session, and Janet wanted pillow talk. Normally, she was content to let him decide what he wanted to say or not say, but tonight, she wanted all the dirt on the newbies.

"O'Neill's right, if a Goa'uld,' he pronounced it "Ghool" due to his accent and as a sign his disrespect for the snake heads, "gets 'em, they're dead. I started them on wind sprints, pushups and basic conditioning."

"Rod the Bod gave you some trouble?" Janet giggled.

Rodney McKay had whined and moaned his way through the entire afternoon. The final straw had been the push ups. Rodney couldn't or wouldn't do them correctly, and so Hammond had kept on him until he managed to do the required… **_five_**…pushups correctly.

"If he doesn't stop whining, he'll get his team killed,' George predicted darkly.

"What did you think of Doctor Samantha Carter?" Janet asked; her voice strangely intense.

"Can't place the name," he admitted after a long pause where he tried to remember all the geeks' names. McKay. Jackson. Lee…. Carter? Was there a Carter in the group?

"Sweater girl," Janet laughed. "Glasses, blonde, wears those sweaters that are too big?"

"Ah! Yes. Quiet. Knows how to do a correct pushup, so she's not a complete waste of space," he admitted. "She can also read military insignia accurately, and she was busy teaching the other geeks the trick."

"She should… she's a military brat. Know who her daddy is?" Janet questioned.

"Should I?" He asked, wondering what was percolating in Janet's brain.

"Your old buddy, Major General Jacob Carter," she teased. "Isn't he the one that left you for dead?"

He pushed her off him, and sat up. Major General Jacob Carter had once been a friend, but that was before he had left George behind enemy lines. A thousand different emotions were filling his soul, but the majority of them were shrieking for vengeance and Jake Carter's head on a platter.

"Jacob CARTER'S daughter?" He growled. "She's that **_bastard's_** daughter?"

"Yes…." Janet admitted.

His heart dropped a few feet inside his chest, and tried to process that information. Samantha Carter was Major General Jacob Carter's pride and joy.

The man who had his **_stars_**, for the love of God.

Jake had gotten a Medal of Honor for leaving him behind enemy lines! His career had skyrocketed in the five years since he had left George behind to die.

And his wife and his two kids were alive; probably he even had grandkids from Mark by now. He thought of his two sweet grandchildren Tessa and Kayla, and he instinctively began rubbing the wedding ring that was no longer there on his ring finger, wanting to ease the pain.

"And you know what, George?" Janet said with a sweet smile. "She's a **_virgin._**"

"She's young enough to be my daughter, Janet," George protested.

"I was just thinking, you know. It would be so horrible, if she met someone at the SGC… who just took his time, got dear, sweet, shy, virginal Samantha to trust him, and then completely fucked her over after she gave it up. If you do it correctly, you might even ruin her life, George. Jake left you behind and you were declared KIA. Your wife died from grief, George, and your family… " Janet paused; her dark eyes unexpectedly full of tears.

"Was killed on the day of the funeral by a seventeen year old drunk who didn't even have a license," George spat.

He sat in her bed for fifteen minutes, while Janet got dressed and left him alone in his brooding solitude. She returned after a while, and he wanted to know the answer to one question.

"Why did you tell me this?" George questioned.

"I don't want Samantha as competition, George. A lot of the men at the SGC are like bloodhounds, they smell her inexperience and they want to take it and mold her into their idea of the perfect woman. You know that stereotypical masculine bullshit pride about being the first man in a woman's life and how every relationship afterwards is tainted with how you affected her for better or for worse," Janet told him in a quiet, emotionless voice.

And he wondered briefly if Janet Fraiser had been a virgin when she married her husband. If she had been, that little tawdry tidbit would explain a hell of a lot.

* * *

He left Janet quickly after that, wanting and needing to return to his sanctuary. His loft apartment where he was the only one allowed. Certainly not Janet. For her to visit his condo for one of their 'sessions', it would be a spiritual desecration, especially to his late wife. He closed the door behind him quickly, locking the assorted locks and dead bolts rapidly. 

For a moment, he really looked at his condo. It was a nice place; Angie would have loved it, as it had every amenity she would have wanted. Cathedral ceilings, ceiling fans, huge bedrooms, a Jacuzzi. After he had left the psych ward, one of the nurses had talked to him about a friend of hers, a real shark of a lawyer who was willing to take his case on for free. The lawyer had sued the 17 year old driver, the kids' parents, the owner of the vehicle the kid was driving plus the bar for negligence.

And George had won BIG.

The cash register had rung loudly when he had taken the stand.

A highly decorated Air Force Career Officer, ex-POW, taking the stand with a shrink on standby, reduced to stuttering monosyllables on the stand when he discussed the hell he was now living in as his family was dead thanks to the punk kid, had rattled the jury. When his lawyer had "regretfully" asked him to show his arms to the jury, to show them the physical scars from his suicide attempt, he had been surprised when a few of the jurors had openly wept.

George hadn't had to show them off, because naturally the defense attorneys had objected, but…. He couldn't understand why those jurors had cried for him. He still couldn't comprehend how these complete strangers could feel sympathy for him while the people that dealt with him every day treated him with thinly veiled contempt.

And so George had bought this place, thinking all the while how much Angie would have loved it. First thing he had done was have it repainted in her favorite colors.

It wasn't a home; it was a literal shrine to his dead. Pictures of his wife, his children and their families were everywhere. He took off his jacket and threw it onto the table, and he quickly walked towards the smallest of the four bedrooms. Three too many really, but the view of the man-created lake was something Angie would have loved, and so he had bought the unit.

This small bedroom was sacred to him; it was his physical memorial to his dead. By the time, he was back on his feet, most of his family's personal items have long been distributed among various relatives and sold, but there were a few things he had obsessively managed to track down. A lot of photos mainly… but a few highly treasured items were kept here.

Kayla's teddy bear.

Tessa's blanket, which she had dragged everywhere.

On the really bad weeks, where he was mindlessly pacing the floors at night because he couldn't sleep, sometimes, he'd lie on the bed located in the shrine, and stroke the brightly colored blanket until he fell asleep.

A bottle of perfume that was the same scent his wife had always worn. Sometimes, he sprayed a precious drop or two on his pillows, and went to sleep, hugging them tightly, wanting to pretend for just a little while that his wife was lying next to him in bed.

He would need to put away a great many of the mementos if he was serious about destroying Jacob Carter's daughter.

She'd never give it up to him if it was obvious he was still in love with his dead wife.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of The Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

_**Rating:**_MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach.

I think that's a compliment?

* * *

Samantha Carter was thrilled with her new assignment. After dealing with Herschfield at the Department of Aerospace Research Headquarters in Washington D.C and how the conniving, little thief had always taken credit for HER work, she was amazed to find herself in a TOP SECRET Department of Defense establishment working as a consultant. 

Ha! Wouldn't her Dad be proud? His daughter the geek was in the Air Force, ok, working for them! Oh yeah, so she couldn't actually tell him because of that non-disclosure agreement that she had eagerly signed.

Most of the other Geeks seemed significantly better than Herschfield, for example, Daniel Jackson seemed quite nice and he was rather **_cute_** to be truthful. Ok, he was more than a little cute, Samantha admitted to herself.

Bill Le, right off the bat, had shown her pics of his many kids and his wife. Bill seemed like a decent guy as he didn't posses the wandering hands like Herschfield. Then there was Rodney McKay, oooh…. Yuck!

She despised him already!

He was **_Arrogant_**.

McKay informed her that he liked dumb blondes and since she was rather a pretty dumb blonde at that, why didn't they go out on date? Then they could get married, and she could stay at home popping out the next batch of geniuses while he worked for a living.

That comment made her so mad! So she let him have it!

"Look buddy, just because my reproductive organs are on the inside, doesn't mean that you're any smarter than I am," she told him. "Yours just dangle in the breeze."

Her Life Coach had told her that she needed to be more assertive and to stand up for herself. If she didn't stand up for herself, no one else would.

_**You're not a door mat, Samantha. Don't let people walk on you. **_

"Oh wonderful," Rodney had snarked loudly. "We've got Betty Friedan here."

Oh God, why did she have to say that about the reproductive organs? Why? Why? **_WHY_**? Damn it, she just got so mad sometimes until she erupted like Mt. St. Helen's. She'd take and take and take abuse and swallow repeated put downs until she blew up.

Then they had to take Basic Training to get on the other side of the Gate. When she has so quickly signed the non-disclosure agreement, she didn't read the fine print where she'd be reliving the horrors of being the geekiest girl in the elementary school and the last picked in gym class.

The Pentagon wanted everyone in tip-top physical shape, especially since they'd probably end up running for their lives from a hostile alien race due to McKay's mouth, and soon she had found herself under the baleful blue eyes of one Colonel George Hammond. He was a tall, bulky, reticent man who had appeared less than delighted with his assignment. The Colonel's ramrod straight posture, with his arms hanging just so at his side and shaved bald head reminded her painfully of her impossible to please father.

Plus they'd all have to learn how to handle a weapon. She tried not to think of the one time her father had taken her and her brother Mark shooting. Samantha hadn't even gotten to attempt it more than one or twice before her father had called it a day, and stormed out of the shooting range. Jake had thundered and roared at her mother about what sissies he had for kids even while Samantha had barricaded herself in her bedroom and had wept for hours.

Mark didn't care that his father thought he was a slacker, but Samantha craved her father's approval like a junkie craved his next fix. Just once, just once, she'd wanted his approval on anything. Even her doctorate in astrophysics hadn't been enough for her father as he had shrugged his shoulders and asked what type of job she could get with it, as there wasn't a chance in hell that she was ever getting into NASA.

**_Oh God, do you think they'll offer a remedial beginner's handgun class? If Hammond's anything like my father, I'll be too nervous to shoot. _**

_**You know, I wish I could tell Dad about this, maybe he'd actually be proud of me for once because one of his kids had actually followed in his footsteps and was in the military. Well I was somewhat in the military. Well, it probably wouldn't be good enough for Dad, as nothing was ever good enough for him. **_

To her surprise, nobody else in "Team Geek" as they had taken to calling themselves could read the stars, stripes, oak leaves, eagles and bars of the insignia of the various military personnel around them. Rodney had called Hammond Corporal, which earned a smirking dress down and an order to drop and do a few pushups. Rodney's mouth was in tiptop form, but not so for the rest of him.

Hammond had to demonstrate the correct way of doing pushups, and then it had taken twenty minutes for Rodney to do the five required. While Rodney was loudly complaining about being abused and how he'd like to see the Colonel do some pushups, the Colonel dropped to floor and banged out sets of ten in rapid succession. First standard Military form, then sets of wide pushups, diamond pushups, elevated pushups, three-point pushups and then he ended it up with fifteen deep pushups, using three chairs that he had the scientists vacate.

That done, the Colonel got off the floor, barely breathing heavily and glaring menacingly at a rather subdued Rodney. And for a wonder, Rodney shut up, much to the delight of the other scientists. Then after Rodney caught his breath, he was soon complaining once again.

"He's not a man; he's a red-headed gorilla! I can't believe that Colonel Steroids is pushing us through basics. I was created for my brains, NOT my brawn."

Then her medical exam had been so utterly embarrassing. Dr. Fraiser had explained that all the women at the SGC had to be on Depo Provera, just to prevent any possible pregnancy complications caused by Gate travel. Janet had noticed her obvious discomfort when questions about her medical history had brushed on her sexual history. Then the doctor had patted her hand reassuring.

"Not sexually active right now are you?"

"No," Samantha admitted.

"Have you ever been?" Janet questioned.

Samantha's face turned a vivid shade of scarlet from her embarrassment.

She was thirty years old and still a virgin! And according to her ex-fiancé, she'd die one.

Janet patted her hand again.

"Don't worry, we all are at some time," Janet reminded her. "And one day, you'll meet the right guy and you'll know."

The doctor seemed nice also.

But the worst part of her entire dream assignment wasn't that she had Rodney to deal with, but that Jonas Hansen was here.

Jonas, the biggest mistake of her life. Her ex-fiancé, who she had dated because her father had set them up thinking Jonas, was a nice guy. Fortunately, she never gave it up to him, as she quickly realized after their engagement that Jonas was the typical psychopath who'd kill baby kittens by drowning them. Well, actually, he'd set them on fire first and then drown them, claiming it was an act of compassion.

Jonas had wanted sex on the first date, the second date, the third date… well, you get the idea, and Samantha hadn't felt ready to do the deed. She kept putting him off, and then when she was still overwhelmed with the idea that ANY man, especially one as charming as Jonas wanted anything to do with "Geek Girl", her nickname during high school, she had agreed to his marriage proposal after a whirlwind three month relationship.

And then the pressure to put out had increased, and her gut instinct kept telling her to wait until they were married. Jonas got enraged with her continual refusals until one night he had broken a lamp in his anger and then verbally ripped her to shreds.

"You're gonna die a frigid old virgin. You'll be ninety seven years old wearing those shapeless cardigans that you love and you'll still be a virgin because nobody will ever want your cherry."

Sam was hoping and praying that now that he was married, he'd leave her alone.

Naturally, she was mistaken.

It was only her second day, and she was wearing her bright, shining BDUs so new that the creases were obvious to one and to all. She was in the locker room, tying her laces up, when she felt someone's hand on her back.

"Don't you look so spiffy in your fatigues, Samantha," Jonas drawled in a creepy tone that made her heart start racing.

"Jonas, it's the still the girl's locker room. You have to leave until it's your turn," she vainly protested.

She would have control of the situation! She would! No one could make her feel inferior without consent, and by God, Samantha wasn't consenting to this. Unfortunately Eleanor Roosevelt had never had to deal with Jonas when she had originally quipped that phrase.

"Samantha… I'm going to stay, because I really want to see you naked. I mean as your former fiancé, I should know what you look like naked. Oh wait, I keep forgetting. You're the oldest virgin in America as you won't give it up. Tell me, anyone want your dried up cherry? It must be pretty tough by now. Might need a jackhammer to do the deed by now."

"Jonas, stop being crude," she protested again.

"You know, Sammy," Jonas said with a leer. "You owe me…"

He grabbed her hard, twisted her arm until she cried out, and then slammed her against the locker. Putting one hand on the front of her fatigue, he stopped unexpectedly, no doubt wanting to terrorize her further while he savored her fear.

"Don't worry, darling, by the time I'm done with you, that little problem of yours will be gone…"

She tried to knee him, and to her surprise, Jonas abruptly stiffened.

"Captain Hansen, you will release the Doctor now," said another male voice.

Hansen turned away from her and tried to strike the other officer, but he ended up smashed head first into a locker by Colonel Hammond. His limp form slid downward and then Jonas was prone on the floor. Samantha had to bite her lip from prevent herself from cheering loudly as that was the first time she had ever seen Jonas handled so completely and efficiently. Hammond, with a noticeable distaste, prodded Jonas' in the ribs with one boot clad foot, as though Jonas was a large pile of something rather icky, and the Texan appeared delighted when Jonas didn't so much as moan.

"Ma'am?" Colonel Hammond drawled in a thick Texas accent. "You ok? You're not hurt, are you?"

"Thank you, Colonel," Samantha whispered. "I'm fine, just a little sore."

"You look a fright. My office is the three doors down on the left. Why don't you sit there for a bit and relax until I return? I'll need to speak to General O'Neill about I witnessed, but it was plainly an unprovoked attack. But first, I need to take the trash to the infirmary. Feel free to help yourself to my coffee. It's much better than the swill they serve here."

And with that, Hammond got on the phone and called for a medical team to pick up the still immotile Jonas while Samantha quickly made her escape.

* * *

Hammond's office was small and dimly lit. It was also extremely neatly organized with nary a paper clip out of place on his desk. There were four or five photos on his desk, all of whom appeared to be family members and several of the pictures had the grim 2IC grinning ear to ear. Picking up one of the photos, she had stared it for several minutes before she could confirm that it was a younger, and yes, **_smiling_**, Hammond holding a newborn baby in his arms. The silver frame was enscribed with "World's Best GrandPa" and a date, some five years prior. 

Sam smelled the delightful aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and she decided to pour herself a cup, but she soon gave it up as a lost cause as her hands were shaking so badly. She was wiping up the mess she had made when Colonel Hammond entered the room.

"Ma'am? The General would like to talk to you about what happened. It's merely a formality as I witnessed his assault and heard what he said. I can assure you that Jonas Hansen will be thoroughly reprimanded for what happened, and he will be removed from this facility. In fact, there might be a good chance that they'll drum him out of the service for this."

Samantha sat down heavily in a chair, and she knew that she was blushing.

"You heard? What he said?" Samantha whispered.

"How do you know Jonas?" The Colonel didn't answer her question. "Some of the comments were a bit… too personal an attack for him not to know you. Was he your… ex?"

"He was my ex-fiancé," she explained. "We separated… because I…."

She stopped in mid-sentence, not wanting to the grim man in front of her why she and Jonas had decide dto s.

"Ma'am, I'm a bit old-fashioned, probably because I was raised in the Texas. What you are and what you aren't ain't nothing of which to be ashamed. The only way you could ashamed was if you and he had…"

Hammond stopped, and waved his hand, his gesture conveying what he meant.

"He wouldn't have handled it with the proper respect and sensitivity that it deserves. That particular undertaking deserves a gentleman's touch… someone who'd make sure that it was full of happy memories for you rather than just another notch on his belt… I hope I haven't embarrassed you, Ma'am, but if I did, I apologize, but it is truly how I feel about the matter."

She shook her head, and tried to stop shaking. To her surprise, Colonel Hammond took her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze before releasing them.

"Ma'am," he said in his deep voice. "You don't have to give the General all the details about what Jonas said. Just tell the General that Jonas had you pinned against the locker and that he wanted to hurt you. That'll be enough as I was a witness."

Samantha sighed, and she wiped her eyes quickly.

"I don't know how to thank you, Colonel. If you hadn't come in then…" Samantha stopped and then continued. "I wish I could thank you…"

"How about if you sit with me if we have lunch at the same time?" Hammond requested. "Being 2IC here, I usually eat alone. Fear of fraternization, I guess. It's a might lonely everyday to have lunch by yourself."

She agreed, because what else could she do? Though truthfully, the very thought of having lunch with Hammond left her cold. The rumors about the taciturn, stone faced 2IC had already spread through Team Geek, and the kindest ones were that he was crazier than a March Hare and when provoked he was as vicious as a cornered rabid wolverine.

"May I take your hand?" Hammond questioned softly.

She extended it, and he grabbed it much like Jonas did. Instinctively, she pulled away from him and he shook his head.

"No… I want to show you something. If someone grabs you like that, it's called a wrist lock. You do a quick twist against the thumb. The thumb is the weakest part of the grip…" He demonstrated quickly. "You also need to learn how to stand, to make yourself appear less of a victim. Your shoulders are hunched, you never look anyone in the eye and you just about scream, 'Easy Victim'. But you were right, going for the groin, but also go for the eyes, and the throat. Also, breaking his pinky probably would have caused him to stop the wristlock. Grab the pinky and bend it backwards."

Hammond made her practice until she could easily get out of his wristlock. She knew that he wasn't putting all his strength into his grip on her wrist, but by the end of his lesson, Sam realized how she could have broken Jonas' grasp.

"With a little adrenalin in you, you'll do fine," Hammond informed her. "But I hope there's not a next time for you, Ma'am. Now don't forget, you need to speak to General O'Neill about what happened."

* * *

George began examining O'Neill's lesson plans after Samantha Carter had left his office. He had thrown them into his "In" bin after he had gotten then, vowing never to look at them. Shaking his head in disbelief at O'Neill's obtuseness, he reached for black and red pens and began revising O'Neill's lesson plans. 

First off, physical conditioning then he had to teach those geeks how to defend themselves. He had been surprised by the amount of anger he had felt when he saw Jonas hassling Samantha Carter. Mack the Quack would probably quack that it was a good sign that he was actually interested in the welfare of another human being, but goddamn, if a man had ever done that to his wife, he'd knock the loser flat on his ass.

After Hansen had been handled, George had realized that this was an excellent opportunity to lay the groundwork for seducing Jake Carter's daughter. A few chivalrous comments in a slow, heavy Texas Twang, especially the one about it being best for the woman if a gentleman handled her first time to ensure her pleasant memories had led to Samantha's polite comment about thanking him properly. A lecherous man would have insisted on drinks outside the base, in order to achieve the touchdown as quickly as possible… but instead he had requested that she might sit with him at lunch.

God, after dealing with that creep Hansen, no doubt there was a reason why Samantha had never given it up… so that meant… a…slow… deliberate… seduction.

No one ate lunch with lonely ole him because he was the 2ic, for fear of charges of fraternization? That was truly **_inspired_** bull shit.

Nobody wanted to eat lunch with him because he was the Top Pick on Sgt. Siler's List of Personnel Most Likely to Repeat a Complete Mental Snap and Take a Squad or Two Down Before They Restrained Him. Then again, he was the only one on the base that he knew of that had met the first criteria for the list.

Yet, if he actually got her into his bed, he was pretty sure his current seduction style that bordered on mutual sexual assault would completely traumatize her and have her screaming for the police before he got her undressed. He'd have to work on that, not with Janet….naturally.

But… maybe he could remember what it had been like with his wife, to reminisce fondly on the sensation of being so utterly focused on your partner's pleasure that nothing… and he meant… **_nothing_**… else mattered and the exquisite joy and delighted pride that he had once felt when his wife had softly called out his name.

Janet was a wildcat in bed and a screamer to boot, but his wife… how he missed her soft voice whispering in his ears, how she used to rest her head on his chest afterwards and how they'd talk about anything and everything until they drifted off to sleep. Oh God, how he longed for her gentle touch and how she massaged his aching shoulders and lower back, not because he asked, but just because Angie knew they were paining him.

God, he truly **_was_** a monster if he was thinking on how to seduce Samantha Carter by trying to remember what had once worked with Angie.

And the worst part was once he got her into bed, he knew that he'd destroy Samantha, because he was incapable of anything else. Every thing he had once loved and cherished lay buried underneath six feet of limestone Texas soil, shaded by a large Texas Ash tree that overlooked a small pond.

Angie had always held a fondness for that particular tree, and the kids had done good when they picked out the cemetery plot. Enough room for all of them there and there was a spot reserved for him with his name on it and date of birth on it.

Ironic, wasn't it? The reason why his family had decided to get a plot in Texas was walking and talking on God's Green Earth, and they weren't.

Brooding on that dark thought for a bit, he returned to writing his lesson plans and he lost track of time when he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," he ordered.

Janet Fraiser glided into his office and quickly closed the door behind him.

"You didn't crack Hansen's skull, just to let you know, but he's got a severe concussion," Janet breathed huskily.

She was feeling frisky… pain always turned her on, especially since she didn't like Jonas. He was probably the only man she hadn't tried at least once between what he had sardonically nicknamed Janet's Golden Arches.

Over two billion served at last count.

"And… and… someone came down to get her wrist x-rayed. The adrenalin rush wore off and her wrist hurts. Just a bad sprain, so I gave her a splint and some TLC," Janet smirked and then sat on his desk, crossing her shapely legs deliberately, so he could admire them. "Someone's got an admirer."

"What's his name?" George retorted.

"You know," Janet purred. "Don't be dense."

"You're fucking Ferretti now?" he questioned. "Where do you find the time? You've got a different man twixt those thighs of yours every night, Doc."

"Have been fucking Ferretti for the last six months, dear. Every Wednesday night when his wife thinks he's bowling," Janet reminded him, "But I know you're just playing stupid. Our lovely, virginal Samantha Carter was all abuzz about you. She wanted to know more about you, so I told her **_all_** about you."

"Fuck," he swore. "If she runs down the hallway screaming like the very hounds of hell are after her next time she sees me, I'll blame you."

"No…" Janet giggled. "I didn't tell her the truth about you. I mentioned the Iraqi Prison Camp…"

"Everyone knows about my stay in Club Iraqi," George reminded her in dry tones. "Plus my extended vacation at Club Insanity. And I quite sure that rumors that are circulating through out this fine establishment don't come even a hair close to the truth of what I experienced for my fourteen month vacation in Iraq."

"I did mention what happened to your wife and your family," Janet informed him. "How they died, still believing that you were KIA."

Unbidden a thought came to his mind, the hospice nurse that had cared for his wife, telling him how Angie had died, surrounded by their daughters and their families. Angie had died happy, with a smile on her face; because she thought he'd be greeting her on the other side. It had taken time, but he had managed to track down his wife's caretakers, begging them to please tell him anything and everything about her final moments.

It had taken Mack the Quack's intervention for any of them to actually talk to him.

Rumors had it that he had been very fucking scary in his zealous pursuit for the information. But damn it, he had needed to know, wanting to grasp for any reassurance that Angie hadn't been in pain, that her death had been a good death.

"_Don't worry girls, I'll be seeing your father soon… He's waiting for me… and I so want to see him again…"_

"And how you found out," Janet continued.

_The shrink telling his assistant, "I don't believe Lt. Colonel Hammond is in any condition to be told about his family. If he asks about his wife or his children, you're to stall him."_

"_Sir, he needs to know that they're dead. We can't lie to him!"_

"_Lieutenant, he just got released from an Iraqi POW camp, he's in no condition to know that his wife went out of remission and that she died while he was over there. We certainly can't tell him that his family was killed by a drunk driver on the way to the funeral and he has no family left," the shrink said in a voice that carried to where George had been hiding. _

_At a forced march, he walked back to his room, and grabbed his needed supplies. Then he got into the bed…_

_Carefully, he took out the razor blade from the razor and he put it against his skin. They hadn't cleaned the room completely before he had been assigned it, and he had found the unused razor in the back of the closet. He had hidden it, instinctively knowing something was horribly wrong by how they evaded his questions about his family. _

_With a quick, savage motion he made a long, vertical cut on his left arm running from his wrist to his elbow and then quickly did the same to his right. He reclined back in his bed, his hands inside a waste paper basket as it wouldn't be right to make the poor housekeeping aids clean up after him, growing dizzier and dizzier….. He should have done this in the bathroom, but there wasn't a bathtub there, just a shower, and this way, it would be less of a fuss._

_He thought of happier times with his wife… as the colors started fading from his sight and he almost didn't hear the scream when the housekeeping aid saw what he had done… _

"How O'Neill was willing to take you as his 2IC…. When no one else wanted you…"

_He was sitting in O'Neill's office, dressed in his brand new blues as he had lost muscle and mass during his stay at the Iraqi Hilton, wearing his brand spanking new Colonel Eagles on his shoulders, them being nothing more than a bone thrown to an old dog who was too damn stubborn to lay down and die. Mack the Quack was there also, and O'Neill and Mack were nattering on and on about how Cheyenne Mountain would be an excellent place for George to restart his career. _

Ah, Janet must be deliberately trying to goad him into reacting, and so he simply nodded his head. His Ferretti comment must have pissed her off, and she was trying to score on him.

Theirs was a hateful, twisted relationship, but it worked.

Sometimes.

"So…" Janet said chirpily. "My place or yours tonight, Hammond?"

"Neither," he replied. "Too tired to play tonight. I would hate to disappoint you, Doc, what this old man's physical limitations."

The fact that this was the first time he actually said something like "No", "Not interested" "Too Tired" to Janet caused the little vixen's face to turn dark and nasty. Just a momentarily lapse of poise, but Janet regrouped quickly, her countenance once again wearing its usual smirk.

"Darling, you better learn to smile," Janet said softly. "You'll never get into her pants without one."

* * *

Samantha Carter knew that she was the topic of conversation as everyone knew that Jonas had been shipped out to the hospital, and she tried not to show that she knew that her name was on everyone's lips. Her injured wrist was throbbing in time to her pulse, and the black splint she was wearing was quite itchy. 

Damn it, it had to be her right hand and her car was a standard. The helpful and rather cute Daniel Jackson had offered to give her a lift home, but he was energetically arguing the finer parts of Phoenician grammar with another member of Team Geek which meant that she'd be here for hours. General O'Neill had talked to her, assured her that the Jonas problem would be resolved, that it wasn't her fault, and then he offered her a ride home.

He was cute too!

But fortunately, Janet Fraiser had warned her about him. Apparently General O'Neill was bit of a dog and his wife was having twins!

She wasn't really sure about Janet, but it would be nice to have a female friend. Janet had also warned her about Colonel Hammond. Not a warning so much as an appeal for her to be compassionate to the older man.

"He's been through hell these last few years, and you know the military mindset, Samantha," Janet explained. "Hammond would sooner die than admit anything, and the entire base knows about his brief sojourn in the Psychiatric Ward. I mean, his wife died from cancer, while he was held in Iraq. They declared him KIA, his wife went out of remission, and died from grief. Then his daughters, their husbands and their two daughters were killed by a drunk driving on the way to the funeral. It was horrible, Samantha, they didn't even have the decency to tell him. No, instead, he found out by eavesdropping as he was wondering where his family was."

And then the story had gotten even worse. Damn her for a fool, she got misty eyed as Janet continued the story. She was too damn sensitive for her own good!

"He took his razor and slit his wrists. That's why he always wears long sleeves," Janet explained. "He's very self-conscious about the scars, as they're pretty ugly. I think it's a good sign that he actually stopped Jonas. Hammond's kept himself apart from everyone else here, not getting too close to anyone here… I think I'm the only one that eats lunch with him…"

"The Colonel invited me to sit with him at lunch," Samantha admitted shyly which caused Janet to smile.

"You will won't you? It's not healthy for him to always keep himself separated from everyone. Hammond's got to realize that he can trust people here," Janet explained.

As though her thoughts conjured him up, Colonel Hammond appeared. He was in civvies, and he appeared startled to see her.

"Ma'am?" He questioned. "I thought you were going home early."

"Can't drive," Samantha explained before pointing at her splinted right wrist. "I drive standard. I'm waiting for my ride."

"Want a lift?" Hammond offered.

"That would be nice," she admitted. "Just let me tell Daniel that I'm catching a ride with you."

* * *

Daniel had appeared a little put off that she was getting a ride home with the Colonel, but then he got distracted by an obvious Phoenician grammar error in mid-discussion, so she quickly waved a goodbye with her good hand and returned to where the Colonel was waiting for her. 

As they left the SGC, Hammond didn't say anything to her except to ask where she lived, and to confirm the cross streets. It was probably her imagination, but she swore she saw Sgt. Siler with a completely flabbergasted look on his face in the parking lot.

Hammond was the picture perfect gentleman, opening the passenger door to his Ford Explorer and then assisting her with the three-point seatbelt. Then he drove her home, and he didn't say anything, not even a single word. The silence was nerve-wracking, and it grew more and more pronounced until finally Hammond spoke again.

"Need to pick somethin' up for supper?"

"I can make something when I get home," she said.

"There's no problem if you'd like to stop somewhere," Hammond offered. "You just let me know where, and I'll stop. There's a decent Chinese place near where you live."

"Decent Chinese?" Samantha questioned. "I don't know much about the local area just yet."

"Actually, it's pretty good Chinese."

Her stomach growled softly and she agreed that it might be nice.

"I'm glad you agreed, as I planning on stopping there after I dropped you off," Hammond admitted. "It's not really worth the effort to cook for one."

Hammond insisted on paying for her meal, turning completely deaf and rather mulish when she tried to give him money for the meal and then he parked the truck, insisting on walking her to her apartment, carrying her food. It was probably a good thing as she couldn't have juggled the food and her lock. It stuck on the best of times, and he had to force it with his shoulder in order to open the door.

"Best have your supe look at that lock, Ma'am," he informed her.

Then Hammond was putting her containers of Chinese food on her kitchen table, and she wondered if she should invite him to eat with her.

"Colonel?" Samantha questioned. "Would you like to stay and eat dinner with me?"

His lips briefly quirked in a half smile, and Samantha thought that of the two of them, his smile needed more oil than her front lock did. It was a rusty smile, as though he hadn't smiled in so long that his lips weren't sure exactly how they were supposed to position themselves. That ghost of a smile unexpectedly reminded her of the photos of the smiling Hammond with his family she had seen on his desk, and she wondered about the man he once had been.

"I'd be delighted, Ma'am," he assured her. "I must admit that I wasn't looking forward to going home and eating alone."

* * *

He let her monopolize the conversation, sometimes she'd stop in mid-sentence as she realized that she was completely dominating their tête-à-tête, and he'd gesture with his hand, or his chopsticks, silently urging her to talk more. 

"I can't believe that you're letting me talk your ear off," Samantha protested when the meal was ended.

"That's alright, I don't talk much. Better to keep quiet, and be thought of as wise then open your mouth and remove all doubt," he said softly.

Sam looked at him, and he quirked another half-smile at her glance.

"It was my Fortune cookie last week," he explained. "Angie… she was my wife… she always had to read her fortune cookie, and she got me in the habit. Though she was a bit of a wildcat… and she had this tradition, where she always added the two words at the end of fortune. If she had read last night's fortune, it would have been…. Better to keep quiet, and be thought of as wise then open your mouth and remove all doubt… **_in bed_**. Don't know where she got that habit from, but she got me in the habit of adding that to my fortune."

"In bed?" Samantha questioned. She knew that she was blushing, and to her surprise, Hammond shook his head in quick agreement.

"Yes, you can add that to your fortune, and it always works. Go ahead, and read yours, you'll see that she was right," Hammond insisted.

She cracked the cookie, looked at her fortune and then shook her head in embarrassment, "I can't read this."

"Come on, what's so bad that you're blushing?" Hammond questioned softly.

She shook her head, and he reached for it. He looked at it, and again quirked another half-smile. It was his third smile that evening.

"Quantity has a quality of its own… in bed. Well, that's the God's honest truth," he added easily, before cracking his cookie in his hand, and pulling out the fortune. "Let's see what mine says. The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up… in bed. Beats sleeping on the floor."

That quip made her laugh, and he seemed surprised.

"Let me clean up, and then I should be going," the Colonel suggested. "Don't protest, I know how to clean up after myself. When I dry the dishes, I'll leave them on table, as I don't know where they go."

She protested, and finally he gave her a mock order to go to the living room. In return, she playfully saluted him with her bad hand, and then she went into the living room. Samantha then curled up on her comfy couch and began flipping through the TV channels. There was a show on Discovery that she had wanted to watch. It was about the Space Shuttle Program, which once she had wanted to be part of more than anything in her life.

* * *

When George went into the living room to say his goodnights, he found her asleep on her couch. Her cardigan had been neatly hung up and her glasses were on the table next to her. Samantha looked so damn young when she was sleeping. And she was surprisingly pretty too, hiding her beauty behind her armor of thick glasses and ugly sweaters. 

Carefully he picked up an afghan and he covered her with it, not wanting to wake her. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled a quick note. Deliberately, he left it on her glasses as that way she'd find it in the morning.

_If you need a ride to work tomorrow, call me. Hammond_.

That done, he left her apartment.

George was almost halfway home when he realized that tonight had probably the most pleasant evening he had experienced in far too long. It was nice to listen to someone else talk rather than have CNN blaring in the background while he ate alone.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

_**Rating:**_MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach.

I think that's a compliment?

* * *

Samantha woke up to the sound of a ringing phone and she realized that she had fallen asleep on the couch. Her good hand reached for the phone, and she answered it. For the moment, she groggily wondered where she was, and why she thought someone should be there in the room with her. 

"Hello?" She tried not to yawn, but she did so anyway.

"Sam? It's Danny. Daniel Jackson, you know… from work?" questioned a familiar male voice. "I'm really sorry that I didn't give you a ride home tonight."

Being raised since birth to never express her disappointment in anything, as her distress had only led to her father's caustic sarcasm in order to toughen her up, she tried to be the Good Girl and smooth everything over.

"That's ok, I caught a ride with Colonel Hammond," she explained. "Drove me home, and we picked up Chinese for dinner so I could have something to eat."

"How was he?" Daniel questioned slowly, his voice dripping in hidden meaning.

"Perfect gentleman," she assured Daniel. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you know they all say that he's… stark raving nuts," Daniel said slowly.

"He was the **_perfect_** gentleman all evening," Sam repeated.

"All evening?"

To Samantha's delight, Daniel sounded a little jealous. She nearly giggled, but the idea that **_anybody_** would be interested in her was just so **_ludicrous_**.

"Yes, he brought me home and bought me dinner. I thought it would be polite to let him eat here."

"D-d-d-did he behave?" Daniel sputtered. "He didn't try anything, did he?"

"Yes, Daniel, he behaved," Sam said dryly. "He's not that bad. He's just extremely introverted."

"He likes you because you can read the insignia," protested Daniel. "The others are already grumbling that you're the Teacher's Pet."

She had always been the Teacher's Pet, the good girl who got good grades and who always behaved. Combining that with her dad's military career and his frequent moves, she was always the odd girl out. Her smile faded, as she realized that her hopes for finally being accepted by the others were probably the same as it had always been.

Pretty damn poor.

Even among the geeks, she was to be the queen of geekdom, scorn and rejected.

"I'll make sure that I bring him an apple tomorrow," Samantha said softly.

"Well, that's the reason why I'm calling…"

"You're bringing him an apple tomorrow?" Sam teased. "Are we coordinating?"

"NO! I'll give you a ride to work tomorrow… well… I'm offering," Daniel sputtered. "If you want, that is."

"That would be wonderful," she admitted. "I thought I might have to take a taxi."

They chatted a bit longer and then Sam agreed to meet Daniel at her front door at seven AM. After she hung up the phone, she reached for her glasses and saw the note from Hammond.

* * *

Hammond arrived home, checked his mailbox like the idiot he was, because he never got anything except for bills and catalogs. Oh, he did get a Christmas card from Murray the Shark Lawyer, but that was it. Much like he expected, his mailbox was empty. He undid the alarm and entered his inner sanctuary. 

Everything was neat, everything was spotless, everything was just so. He could hear the hum of the pumps for his salt water aquarium. It was a monstrous three hundred gallon salt water aquarium that he had put into his condo just because Kayla and Tessa would have loved it. They had always loved to watch the colorful fish zip about in his fresh water tank when they had visited, so he had indulged. In spite of the fact that he had splurged on the condo, had a truck and a classic car in his garage, and had somebody playing "Tank Boy" and keeping his aquarium ship-safe and algae free, he still had more money than he could possibly ever use in his lifetime, as he normally lived pretty frugally.

As it was, his big ticket items, with the exception of his truck, were all items that his loved ones would have enjoyed. The condo with the lake view was his much promised house to Angie. The garaged 1966 Mustang coupe that was viper blue with white metal flake stripes was a sweet piece of work that Angie would have loved. He rarely drove it, and when he did, he was always amused to see various NCOs drooling over it in the parking lot.

He had paid far too much for it, but what the hell was he saving his money for?

Hey! Maybe if Samantha accepted his offer for a lift to the SGC tomorrow morning, he'd take the car. Weather was supposed to be nice. Maybe she was the type of girl that would get impressed by a classic auto?

That thought brought him back to the damn fish tank.

"If I actually get to go off world, I'm going to have to hire a fish sitter," he said to himself.

He sat down on the couch, put his long legs on the coffee table, and he stared at the darting colorful fish for a bit. George was drifting off to sleep when his phone rang.

"Hello?" George answered the phone in a rather deep, groggy voice.

To his disgust, it wasn't Samantha but instead, someone from which he truly didn't want to hear.

"George… You're using your bedroom voice. Did you bang her?" said a female voice. "You sound like it. You've got that rumble in your voice."

"Why I'm doing fine, Janet, thank you for asking. How are you this lovely evening?" George retorted.

"I'm really curious. Did you bang her?" Janet questioned intently. "Did you introduce her to the joys of Sex? Did you make her a woman?"

"Janet, what's the problem? Didn't get lucky tonight? You're being extraordinarily crude tonight even for you," Hammond retorted. "But in answer to your question, no."

"She shot you down?" Fraiser's voice rose several octaves in feigned surprise. "What is she waiting for? Christmas? She's not getting any younger!"

"Janet, it's not something that's going to happen right away. It's going to take time," he protested. "How in the Sam Hell did you find out that I drove her home?"

"Siler," Janet admitted.

"You're doing Siler now?" Hammond questioned with some concern. "Where the hell do you get the energy?"

"There's just something about Siler's big wrench…" Janet purred.

"Too much information," he protested.

"Siler saw you driving her home, being the chivalrous knight that you are, so he **_started_** a new pool."

"You know, Siler should stop running those pools. There's a reason why he nearly got demoted in rank at his last assignment," George said with some asperity.

"Well, he knows that the General fathered Sarah's bambinos, so there isn't any "Whose the Daddy of the General's Wife's Baby" pools. I put five hundred on you, George…"

"Five HUNDRED?" George protested. "What's the pool? Who is the person most likely to have a complete mental snap?"

"No…wait? How do you know about **_that_** pool? Anyway, this pool is whose gonna do Samantha," Janet explained. "You're the long shot, George. You're two hundred and fifty to one!"

"Janet," George explained patiently. "Do you really think you're going to get over a hundred thousand dollars out of Siler? There's a reason why he's always getting hurt, and it's not because he's accident prone. Who's got the best odds?"

"There's three. O'Neill, two to one odds. Jackson, he's four to one, and then there's slight higher odds on Rod the Bod as a bunch think McKay will do it."

His phone beeped, so he put Janet on hold and then answered it. George was a might startled that he remembered how to use his call waiting feature, as he NEVER had two phone calls at the same time, and he was even more astonished to hear Samantha's voice on the line.

"Hello, Doctor Carter," he said gently. "I locked the door on the way out. I didn't want to wake you. Do you need a ride into work tomorrow? It's absolutely no problem. It's on my way to work…"

To be honest, he was surprisingly sincerely disappointed when Samantha informed him that she had accepted Daniel Jackson's offer to give her a ride to work. They said their goodbyes and then he clicked back to Janet.

"Was that _Samantha_…?" Janet put an obscene spin on Doctor Carter's name, and George again wondered why he had allowed himself to get involved with the woman he nicknamed the SGC's Black Widow.

Ah, he remembered. He had taken her offer to share her bed because he had feeling particularly friendless that day, adrift in a loneliness and despair so deep that it had been threatening to overwhelm his soul and his sanity. So when Janet had wiggled her hips at him and winked her eye, he had gone to her like a bee to a flower, or perhaps a mate to a female black widow spider, uncaring that she'd lead to his complete destruction.

Some half remembered quote came to mind… Samuel Johnson?

_I have ever since my wife's death, seemed to myself, broken off from mankind, a kind of solitary wanderer in the wild of life, without any direction, or fixed point of view; a gloomy gazer on the world to which I have little relation._

"Yes, she doesn't need a ride to work tomorrow," George explained.

He let Janet ramble on and on, thinking that she was more concerned about losing the $500 more than anything else and he finally said goodnight. Hammond put the phone down and he looked at his living room.

Some living room.

He existed…. Nothing more… nothing less. He certainly didn't **_live_**.

Mack the Quack wanted him to try another round of antidepressants, but he refused. He quoted the old flyer's truism to the quack, not wanting them to take his pilot's license from him.

_No bottle on the throttle, no med in the head._

Or what he was reminding himself these days.

_Hide the scars, to walk among the stars._

When he was in the psych ward, they had dosed him with assorted shit until the vibrant colors of autumn leaves that he had viewed from the barred window of the rec room had faded to various shades of gray. Once upon a time, he had found solace in music, and once the drugs had kicked in, the peace he had once found turned into cacophonous chords.

So he had refused to take the drugs, and the colors had returned along with the pain.

Yes, all he felt was pain, and all he would feel from now until the end of time, but it still preferable to feeling _**numb**._

God, his head was painin' him something fierce, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep until the early hours, so he took out his notebook and began writing his lesson plans for the geeks.

* * *

Daniel Jackson arrived at her apartment on time, and Samantha thanked him for the ride. He drove a battered hatchback, and Samantha tried not to notice that he had needed to clear a few books from his front passenger's seat and had in fact, thrown them into his back seat while she was walking toward the car. 

"How's the wrist?" He questioned immediately.

"Not so bad," Samantha said.

She gave a happy grin and gestured with her brace covered arm.

"I can't twist it without pain just yet, but the brace is only a precaution," she explained.

"So what happened?"

Sam's smile faded and she scrunched into herself. She tried never to speak bad about anyone, and she hated conflict in any form. Her parents had some doozies of fights when she was younger, and their screaming had always made her run to her room and barricade the door. She'd cry into her pillow, hugging her teddy bear tightly until they'd stop screaming and shrieking obscenities at each other. Then her mom would come up to her room, with a tray of cookies and lemonade and she'd explain to Sam that sometimes Mommy and Daddy had fights and said nasty things, but they still loved their children very, very much. It wasn't her fault, no matter what Samantha believed, her mom promised her. It was never Samantha's fault that her parents fought.

Though young Samantha never mentioned to her Mommy about the really bad fight her Mommy and Daddy had, in which her father had cursed his anger and regret that his stupid wife had gotten knocked up the second time. Samantha was younger than her brother, and she was really, really sure her dad didn't truly mean it. He just didn't really expect her to hear it, but the fight had gotten so ugly, that she had gone downstairs to beg them to stop and so she had overheard. Sam never told her mother that she had heard her mother scream that she wished she had gotten an abortion and a divorce but that Jake was too Catholic to allow either.

Instead, she had been even more determined to gain her father's love and respect.

On the rare times she admitted to herself that maybe she was attempting too hard to earn her father's love, and her efforts were futile and doomed to failure, she vowed to try even harder.

Maybe one day her father might stop hating her for being born, and maybe… just maybe… like her?

So instead of telling Daniel the truth, she just gave him a white lie.

"Jonas got a little fresh," she admitted.

"I heard Hammond slammed his head into a locker," Daniel stated. "Since Hansen was fresh to you, he **_deserved_** it."

Daniel nodded his head and Samantha looked at the man driving the car. Daniel was a **_pacifist_**, always trying to find an answer to a conflict without the use of a gun. Hammond had nearly stroked when Daniel had suggested in class something to the effect of not every conflict needed to end in violence.

D_octor Jackson, if we're going off world, you need to accept the fact that some problems will not be solved by sitting 'round a campfire, smoking a peace pipe and singing Kumbaya. Sometimes you'll be running like hell, trying to save your six while using a P90._

"You really think that?" Sam questioned, trying not to sound surprised… and grateful.

"I do," he said. "You're pretty and you're really smart."

"You think?" Samantha asked, really surprised by this. As no one, not even Jonas when he had been trying to get into her plain white panties, had said that she was pretty.

"Yes," Daniel admitted.

Someone laid on their horn, causing it to blare, ruining the moment and then Daniel gunned the motor and zipped through the intersection.

Wow, Samantha thought. He thinks I'm **_pretty_**.

* * *

First thing she noticed in the parking lot was a viper blue 1966 Ford Mustang coupe. It gleamed softly in the early morning light, and there were a few sergeants encircling it, and gawking enviously. It was parked next to a new black Corvette, but her eyes were focused on the Mustang. 

"Sweet," she whispered as she stared at it.

"What?" Daniel questioned.

"The Mustang," Sam explained.

"It's a car…." He responded, his voice conveying his lack of understanding on why the car was so special.

"It's a classic car. It's an antique," she explained. "I think it's in MINT condition!"

"It's from the seventies," protested Daniel. "What's the big deal?"

"1966," she retorted.

"I'm sorry, Samantha. For me, artifacts are at least a thousand years old before they're considered antiques, and they have to be several thousand years old before they're interesting antiques."

"I can see your point," she admitted softly, but inwardly, she was marveling at the car. It was in pristine condition, and lovingly polished.

_I wonder who owns it. Maybe O'Neill does.

* * *

_

"Colonel Hammond!" General O'Neill caught him just as he was slamming his locker shut, not looking forward to another day of Geek Training Camp. "I see you brought the Mustang today. Sweet car, Colonel."

"Thank you, Sir," Hammond answered automatically.

"I can also see why you and Sgt. Siler decided to take **_three_** parking spaces for your two cars," O'Neill retorted.

Siler, the resident bookie, made enough money on the side of his paltry NCO salary to buy a 'vette. It was Sly's pride and joy, and he only drove it on the rarest of occasions, when his betting pools were current, there was no fear of reprisal from unhappy losers and the weather was fine. He always took two spaces in the parking lot, and so Hammond had parked next to him, leaving a wide berth.

"Don't want to ding it," he answered. "Do you need me to move the car, Sir?"

"I'm a General, Colonel. I let the MPs deal with the parking infractions, as my mind is focused on other, far more momentous issues. Speaking of which, meeting, my office, fifteen minutes, Colonel."

O'Neill sauntered out of the locker room and George debated the odds of being struck by lightning. After the last meeting with O'Neill, it probably would be preferable.

General Jonathan J. O'Neill knew he was considered a fuck up by his superiors in the Pentagon. The awarding of the single star on his shoulder had been a near miraculous stroke of luck thanks to some quick action at a cocktail function. Saving the Secretary of Defense' life due to his stellar Heimlich maneuver skills when the Secretary was choking on an olive in his martini was a definite vocational boost in a career marred by thinking with the wrong head. No one could ever charge him with adultery, because he was smooth as silk, but the rumors had been swirling around him for a long, long time.

He had only taken George Hammond as his 2IC because the Secretary of Defense had called him at his home and requested that he do so. Jack knew which side his bread was buttered on, and he did anything the Secretary wanted him to do.

And, by God, he did it cheerfully.

But Hammond.

Damn it, George Hammond should be the one running the base, as his career record was **_spotless_**, as it was highly doubtful that he had ever needed to dive out a General's window after servicing the Mrs. General, causing him to bust his knee by tearing assorted ligaments in his haste to avoid the General who had returned a little earlier than expected. Jack claimed to this day, that he had tripped over Charlie's toy which had been left on the steps. Sara had wanted to punish Charlie severely as she viewed it was Charlie's fault that Jack had to be carried out via a stretcher to the ambulance, but Jack assured her that it wasn't necessary. Charlie's guilt over leaving the toy out and causing his father's injury was punishment enough, Jack promised her.

Yes, Hammond's record was spotless, except for that big black stigma of having a nervous breakdown after realizing that his wife and family were dead.

It was amazing, in Clinton's new military. You could be gay, as long as you didn't ask and didn't tell, could commit adultery every chance you got, but one little mental snap was held against you forever.

He knew that Hammond held no respect for him, but that was ok. Jack didn't respect himself either.

Mackenzie was seeing George every week, faithfully like clockwork, as that was part of the condition for George to work at the base. George wanted to be on that first team to go through the wormhole, and per Mackenzie, George was simply not mentally stable enough to be allowed through the Gate.

"Simply put, he's got suicidal ideations. He's not actively looking for it, but he's also not going to step aside if the chance comes his way," Mack had stated. "Colonel Hammond can't go off world as he currently is, because if push comes to shove, he'll take the bullet. George will be smiling when he gets it."

"Hammond doesn't believe he has anything to live for, except for his position here," Mack had continued. "He's got two more years until mandatory retirement. After his retirement party, I would expect him to attempt suicide within seventy two hours."

"Then he's not going off world," O'Neill decided.

"Then you're giving a death sentence because you've just taken away his position here. He needs something to get him involved with the rest of the members of the SGC. Hammond needs to interact with people."

"He can join the bowling team," O'Neill quipped.

His quip earned a narrowing of Mackie's dark eyes.

"Softball?" He threw in for good measure, as he never knew when to stop, which was the reason why he had jumped out of a second story window, ripped his knee apart when he landed and had crawled to his truck on his hands and one knee, hoping that a certain Lt. General didn't recognize his truck.

"I understand that we're getting an influx of scientists into the SGC," Mack pointed out.

O'Neill grimaced, as he hated scientists and he hated civilian scientists the most.

"They'll need survival skills," Mack continued. "Especially if they run into trouble. Who better to teach them then someone who has lived through the worst?"

"You're suggesting **_HAMMOND_**? Hi, I don't say anything for days at a time **_Hammond_**?"

"Dr. Fraiser agrees," the shrink continued over O'Neill's protests.

"FRAISER?"

"She is the one closest to him out of everyone here," Mack reminded him. "Yes, before you make a snide comment, yes, I know they have a physical relationship."

So he had regretfully agreed to Mack's insane suggestion, and the end result was Mack had him touching base with Hammond regularly regarding the rooks. So that's why he was meeting with Hammond and Mack.

He was playing with one of his toy jets when he heard George enter the room. With a final mental ZOOOOM, he put the plane away and turned to face Hammond.

* * *

Hammond entered the General's office, and he stood quietly in the doorway, watch the General play with one of his airplane models. Mackenzie nodded an acknowledgement and Hammond returned it. 

"Sit down, Colonel. I want to hear about the rookies," O'Neill said over his shoulder as he flew the plane toward its pedestal.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to figure out what O'Neill wanted him to say. More importantly, he wanted some guidance in what Mackey wanted to hear him say. George was getting more and more convinced that when the moment of truth came, Kawalsky would be the one leading the first team off world, while he stayed behind.

Charles Kawalsky and Louie Ferretti.

God, how he hated those two men, and how George loathed their little snide comments about his mental breakdown that he always **_just_** overheard. His secret Santa, some horseshit idea of O'Neill's, had given him a big container of assorted nuts for Christmas. He had walked over to Ferretti, handed it back to him and coldly told him that he was highly allergic to nuts and their little joke would have killed him.

Actually, he used to enjoy Texas Chili Gourmet Cashew Nuts or the Chili Lime Cashews by the handful. And well… Thanksgiving, it was never Thanksgiving, if Angie's Roast Turkey with Chili-Pecan Sauce and Cranberry-Jalapeño Relish wasn't on the menu.

"We've had some problems with the military personnel," Hammond finally said after a long pause.

O'Neill dropped gracelessly into his leather chair, and turned to face him.

"Hansen is gone," O'Neill informed him. "He's no longer assigned here. He's going to Antarctica for a very, very long time. I want to thank you for handling that matter quickly, though perhaps next time, slamming his head into a locker…"

"He had her pinned against the locker and was making sexually suggestive comments," Hammond responded quickly. "We've got a large influx of civilian females into this facility recently. Do you want them to think that we condone that type of behavior? Plus her father is buckin' for Lt. General last time I heard…"

Mackenzie wasn't saying anything, which meant that he was shrinking George's head like a shrunken apple head. Hammond coughed, resisting the temptation to raise his voice up an octave, but he could literally feel his head shrinking.

"So… how are the children doing?" O'Neill questioned.

"McKay's whining will get his team killed, Felger's head is in the stars looking for glory, Chloe's too busy oogling Felger, Coombs is…."

Hammond rattled off his notes, and he paused at the last two names.

"Jackson's claiming he's a pacifist, but the first time he gets shot at, I'm sure he'll change his mind damn quick. Carter… she and Jackson might have potential. She can read insignia, been teaching the others. Might have been a good pick for team leader for the geek brigade, but she's been suffocated…."

"I just saw her five minutes ago, when did she die?" quipped O'Neill.

Hammond sighed mentally.

"Crushed? Verbally," he continued. "She's fearful of expressing an opinion, always trying to smooth conflicts out. You yell at her, she'll fall apart on you… but then again… maybe not… When Hansen harassed her, she tried to stand up for herself… but if he had raised his voice and yelled at her, I think she would have fallen apart then and there... Considering Hansen knew what buttons to push on her, I'm surprised he didn't do that."

"Appears she's gotten emotionally stronger since she last dealt with Hansen," suggested Mack after a long pause.

George shrugged his shoulders, and a few more painful moments of small talk, he was given permission to leave. He left the room at a brisk march, and he caught Sgt. Siler in the hallway. He grabbed Siler by the arm and pushed him into a stairwell.

"Sgt. Siler, I understand that you have a pool going on one of the female scientists?" Hammond questioned softly.

Siler pretended not to understand, but Hammond pushed him against the wall.

"You can have your little pool about my looming metal breakdown, but I think the advisability of you running a pool on who's gonna score with the daughter of a certain Major General… destined to be Lt. General in the next few months, is pretty damn idiotic. Unless, Sgt. Siler, you desire the chance for you and your 'vette to be watching the penguins down in Antarctica with Hansen. Major General Jacob Carter finds out that you're running a betting pool on his daughter, you'll be back to Airman, Sgt. For the record, penguins don't bet."

* * *

O'Neill had to admit Mack the Quack was correct. Hammond had summed up correctly the various scientists and their various quirks. 

"Hammond needs to connect with other people," Mack reminded him. "That's the most he's spoken in the year that I've been dealing with him. It's a very good sign that he stepped in with Hansen."

"He nearly cracked Jonas' skull when he slammed Jonas' head against the locker," O'Neill reminded Mack. "Don't get me wrong, he deserved it, but there's a dent in the locker where Jonas' head bounced off it."

"Would you prefer her father getting involved?" Mack questioned.

"I'll skip that," he admitted.

"Keep on Hammond; make sure he continues teaching the rookies. He needs to talk to people; he needs to permit himself to actually bond with another person. He's got a wealth of knowledge in his bald head, so don't let him weasel out," reminded the shrink before he disappeared.

There was a few minutes' peace in his office, and then he heard a timid knock on the door.

"General O'Neill? Sgt. Davis said that you were looking for me?" a female voice asked rather timidly.

"Carter, come on in please," Jack requested, before flashing the female scientist, his best mega-watt smile.

She was very nervous about meeting the General, especially after the events of yesterday. Everyone knew what had happened between her and Jonas, or at least they thought they did, and how Hammond had cracked Hansen's skull to defend her honor. Chloe had even made a snarky comment about how surprised everyone had been to hear that HAMMOND had rescued her.

"So… is there something going on between you two," Chloe asked.

"Don't you need to chase after Jay for a bit?" Sam had snapped, as she had slammed her locker door shut, then she had tried not to wince as she had jarred her bad wrist. "You know, I don't know a lot about guys, Chloe, but I think the puppy dogs eyes you're making at Felger is a little too obvious. Reeks of desperation."

"Least he's not crazy," Chloe had retorted.

She had gotten so mad that she had wanted to say something really nasty to Chloe, about Jay being a complete loser with big, bulging eyes and how Chloe should have more respect for what had happened to Hammond because Felger would have been whimpering for his mamma within the first five minutes but naturally she didn't. Her father always told her good girls didn't pick fights, so she just decided to ignore Chloe's snide comments.

"Carter, come on in, please," the General said warmly before giving her a wide smile. "Take a seat."

When she was settled in the chair in front of his desk, she was surprised that O'Neill was still smiling.

"I just wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday. Jonas Hansen is still in the hospital, and once he's discharged, he'll be joining the South Pole base," O'Neill said cheerfully.

"Not Palmer or McMurdo?" Samantha questioned.

"South Pole," the General explained. "He'll be arriving there in time to experience six months of utter darkness. The USAF does not condone what he did…"

"What happens to his wife and kids?" Samantha asked. Hansen would be furious and no doubt would take his anger about his transfer on them.

"His wife apparently left him some time ago," O'Neill explained. "I sent an MP to his house to let her know that Captain Hansen was in the hospital when no one answered the phone. The neighbors said that no one knows where she is."

The two of them continued chatting for a bit, and then O'Neill dropped a bombshell.

"Colonel Hammond thinks you have potential," O'Neill said cheerily.

"Oh, that's…. " Samantha began slowly, trying to be appropriately modest. What a day this was turning out to be, a cute guy told her that she was smart and pretty and Hammond thought she had potential! It was almost as though her father had told her that.

"Extremely high praise from him. Trust me," the general explained, as he stood up from behind his desk. He escorted her to his office door, "Now, if there's anything I can do for you, feel free to let me know. I have an open door policy."

O'Neill returned to his office, and she found herself in the hallway. Colonel Hammond was in corridor, and he shook his head.

"Ma'am?" He motioned. "If you'd come to my office please?"

She followed him dutifully as he walked down the hallway at a brisk pace. Finally, he opened his office door, and motioned her into his office. She entered, and he closed the door behind him.

"Ma'am, you may feel I may be out of place by what I'm about to say, but I want to make sure that I warn you about General O'Neill. He is… quite the… flirt. It amuses him to trifle with other people's feelings, uncaring of the damage he might do. It is an ill-kept secret on this base that he was having an affair and was promising the woman that he was leaving his wife, until Sara got pregnant."

Her mind was racing, trying to formulate a proper response when Hammond turned strictly professional.

"The Firing Range is on our to-do list with your class. I've talked to Fraiser, you can't even think of firing a gun until this weekend. Do you have any experience with handguns?"

"No, not really," Samantha admitted. She knew she was blushing. "My dad took me to the range when I was younger, and it didn't go well. It didn't go well at all."

Hammond stared at her for a bit, and he was biting his lip. Then he nodded his head once as though he had made a decision.

"Sounds like you have some bad habits I'll need to break," Hammond stated softly.

"My father told me… that I was an absolute idiot when it came for firearms," Samantha offered softly.

Instinctively, she tightened up, waiting for Hammond's inevitable condemnation.

"No, it sounds like your father was an absolute idiot for trying to teach you," he retorted sympathetically. "I didn't teach my daughters how to shoot. I let their mother do that. There's a shooting range outside of Colorado Springs. I'll pick you up on Saturday morning, 7AM. Ok? It'll probably be all day affair, so I'll get you home around 4 or 5 in the afternoon."

* * *

For a moment, he felt something close to sympathy for Samantha Carter. It was obvious to him that O'Neill had charmed her with a big smile, so he had decided to warn her about O'Neill's past history. He also hadn't failed to notice how when she confessed that she wasn't that good with guns that her shoulders had hunched as though expecting to be ridiculed. The sympathy he felt toward her was ridiculous. Nobody could be that insecure and self-effacing. 

Ah, she was Jake's daughter, so she was probably more familiar with sarcasm and smart-ass remarks than a kind word. Another useful hint in seducing Samantha Carter.

"You have to promise me something," George finally said.

"Yes?"

"I'll let you use my gun to practice…. But you need to be gentle," he explained.

"Gentle?" Samantha questioned.

"It's been a few years since my gun has felt a lady's soft touch," he said softly.

Samantha Carter looked at him, and then she blushed. A real, honest-to-God rosy stain marked her cheeks.

She was a military brat, she knew the cadence.

"_This is my rifle,_

_This is my gun,_

_The rifle's for fighting…_

_This one's for fun."_

"Promise you'll be gentle with my gun," he repeated. "It's not flashy, kinda old. Been abused a bit…"

His voice slowed when he said that, and then he continued. "Promise me you'll be gentle with it. It's battered, but it's good for a first time."

To his evil delight, she looked at the floor before she nodded her head.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

**_Rating:_**MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach and have run screaming for the hills.

I think that's a compliment?

* * *

Saturday morning, he pulled his Mustang up to her apartment building at the agreed upon time. Samantha Carter was waiting for him, a rather unusual experience for him as Angie was always a few minutes late for everything while he had been militarily punctual. He never took Janet anywhere as the good doctor was far too ashamed to be actually seen in public with him, so he'd have to guess what how her timing ran, but considering how many men Janet was juggling in her bed, he assumed that she was precisely on the dot punctual. 

Samantha gave him a bright smile, but his mind focused on what she was wearing. She was wearing a **_cardigan_**. It was blue, it was furry, and if his eyeshot hadn't gone to hell, George would swear on his wife's grave that there were little butterflies on it that were flitting among brightly colored flowers.

_**BUTTERFLIES!**_

He was taking a cardigan wearing geek to the firing range to teach her how to shoot, and there were cute little butterflies on her sweater.

It was so goddamn pathetic and bitterly ironic that an insecure Samantha required her armor of cardigan wherever she went. It was amazing, George thought, what each person used as an emotional shield. For him, when his personal demons were haunting him, salvation from the monsters was a faded baby blanket and a tattered teddy bear.

But for Samantha, no doubt she used her collection of all encompassing, oversized cardigans as a physical defense to keep the average male's eyes from admiring her figure. He had caught the slightest glimpse of what lay beneath the cardigan burqua that she wore everywhere, but her figure seemed… enjoyably curvy.

His personal peccadilloes ran toward curvy, voluptuous women ala Marilyn Monroe. Angie had been more Mae West than Twiggy, a rarity among the cookie cutter cache of Twiggy figured Air Force wives at every Air Base whose internal ranking structure appeared to ebb and flow based on their weight, hair color and their husband's rank.

Not dear, sweet, loving Angie who had faced each day with such enthusiasm and _joi de vivre_.

He and Angie had met at a dance during one of his breaks from the Academy. He had been standing in the corner, wondering why the hell he had bothered coming because his younger sister had ordered him not to even think of chaperoning her in spite of what his mother had said, when this curvy Tex-Mex spitfire of a girl had decided that he was going to dance with her. By the end of their third dance together, Aingeal, "Angie" Arroyo-López had planned out his life.

He was going to deflower her that night, marry her after he graduated from the Academy, then give her plenty of babies and they'd grow old and wrinkly together.

Unfortunately, that little five letter word, _cancer_, had intervened and made a mockery of her methodical plans.

George greeted Samantha at the sidewalk, softly questioned her about her healing wrist, and after he was assured that that Doctor Fraiser had declared that it was just fine for today's activities, he opened the passenger door to the Mustang.

"This is your car?" Samantha gasped. "It's so sweet!"

She began asking questions about the car, and George was delightedly surprised when he realized that Samantha knew a thing or two about cars. When he had stupidly shown the car to Janet, as he was curious about what her reaction to the classic car would be, the diminutive doctor had just sniffed, "Not a lot of room in the back seat, eh?"

Well, at least it hadn't been a sardonic comment about him being a typical male overcoming his shortcomings by buying a flashy car. No, George had known that he was going to buy it the minute that he saw it, as he could just imagine Angie driving it, entirely too fast, with the windows down and her long hair getting tangled in the breeze.

He and Samantha chatted about the engine, the tire size, what had been restored on the car and many other things, and finally he motioned for Samantha to get into the car.

"Come on, we don't want to be late," he reminded her.

"I'm sorry," Samantha apologized. "I just am **_amazed_** at the condition of the car. It's **_beautiful_**!"

"When we get to the firing range, you're not wearing the cardigan are you?" Hammond queried, trying to hide his amusement.

He failed miserably; as he could feel Samantha emotionally retreat. Her face turned a shade of scarlet that matched several of the little butterflies that were flitting among the bright, multi-colored flowers on her sweater.

"I was cold," Samantha admitted after a long, exceeding painful silence. "The weather in DC was a little warmer than it is here. I haven't really had time to shop for new clothes."

Carefully, he put his hands on hers and gave them a deliberate squeeze. Then he took his left hand and he slowly ran his thumb over her right hand. To get Samantha, he'd need to be slow, deliberate and cautious.

"It's a very pretty cardigan," he assured her with complete honesty, as the blue was a pretty shade that matched her eyes. "I worry that you'll ruin it by getting it dirty at the firing range. I have an old sweatshirt in the car, you'll swim in it, but I don't care if you get it dirty."

She gave him a shy smile, and he again motioned for her to get into the passenger's seat.

* * *

Oh God, she had been so stupid to wear the cardigan! But Samantha had been very chilly when she was waiting on her front step for Hammond, so she had gone back into her apartment and grabbed the first sweater she could find. 

Naturally, it HAD to be the one with the butterflies!

Her blood had thinned after being in DC for so long and the brisk October Colorado wind was going right through her, and she still hadn't gotten around to shopping. Her free time was spent futilely attempting to get her apartment together, but sometimes, she just got so excited about the latest development in the Stargate program that she'd run home and do research on her own time and forget about unpacking her clothes.

Never in her life had she ever entertained the possibility that she'd be involved with a program this earth-shattering!

Hammond had smirked when he saw the cardigan, as it loudly proclaimed her the geekiest of geeks as who wore a **_CARDIGAN_** to a firing range? Actually the smirk hadn't reached his face, but she could tell that she had blown her chance to actually appear **_normal_**.

He didn't talk much on the drive to the shooting range. No, instead Colonel Hammond concentrated on driving. The Mustang was a standard, and every so often, his hand would touch her leg while he shifted. It was odd, as Hammond often touched her hand when they talked privately, especially when she was feeling uneasy and he noticed her uncertainty.

Plus she noticed that his fingers would almost **_caress_** her leg when he shifted.

Hammond would immediately apologize for touching her leg, but she would almost swear, based on her extremely limited experience with boys...err… men (ok, **_Jonas_**) that he was doing it deliberately. When Jonas' hands had gotten friendly, it had been akin to wrestling with an octopus when she tried to fight him off. In fact, that was the reason why she had broken up with Jonas as she had finally decided that she was tired of getting pawed and mauled in public places.

She was more than a pretty face!

Ok, she was more than just a super smart geek with breasts!

Samantha had feelings, and she had **_morals_**, because a movie theater simply wasn't the place to do what Jonas had wanted her to do! He had unzipped his pants and **_grabbed_** her hands….

When she realized what he had wanted her to do to him in a MOVIE THEATER, she had thrown her engagement ring at him and fled from the movie theater. In the short time they had been together, Jonas had pawed, pinched, grabbed and poked various parts of her anatomy, leaving her bruised, battered and feeling pretty cheap.

She had often pleaded with Jonas to go slow with her, especially in reference to that one particular sensitive matter, but Jonas had informed her that by doing everything fast and quickly, she'd get over her fears once she was… deflowered. Instead, Samantha had gotten increasingly tense about that particular issue.

Now… Hammond, Hammond's fingers were light touches.

No pinching, no poking, no prodding. Instead, his slow touch was like being kissed by a butterfly and she realized that she was getting… _tingly_… when his hand lightly brushed against her leg. Samantha had never "tingled" when Jonas touched her. No instead, her stomach had clenched and her muscles had tightened up.

Cherie, her first college roommate had been extremely experienced, necessitating Samantha to sleep in the lobby quite a few nights while her roomie had pulled an all nighter with her current 'friend', and Cherie, taking pity on her, had explained the entire sex situation to Sam and why Cherie would rather have sex than go to class.

Tingling was good, but there were supposedly even **_better_** sensations to be experienced between a man and a woman.

She must be imaging it, as why would any man, even as allegedly mentally disturbed like Hammond was rumored to be, be interested in a socially misfit, cardigan clad, super genius, virginal geek girl like her? Being a touch too empathetic about being an outcast, she hadn't developed the readily apparent aversion for the solitary Hammond that seemed to infect the SGC. Hammond was always polite to her, and he had been her knight in shining armor, ok, green fatigues when he had slammed Jonas head first into a locker. The Colonel had also told the General that he thought she had **_potential_**…

Sam could have moved her leg to prevent the accidental touches, but she had long legs…and honestly, she really enjoyed the tingly feeling.

They were stopped in traffic, and to her surprise Hammond's hand was resting on her upper thigh, and the tingling sensation was turning into more of a warm sensation that was filling her body.

Oh God! His heavily callused hand was unhurriedly caressing and stroking her upper thigh and… touching her so leisurely and gently….

Samantha unexpectedly wondered what his caresses would be like if he made love to her. She had often daydreamed about her first time being with an Anti-Jonas, a man who would take his time…

But funny, she had always pictured her dream lover as being the life of the party, besides being close to her age and having a full head of hair! Ok, and her dream lover would have more than a passing resemblance to either Mel Gibson or George Clooney.

Or Harrison Ford. He was… **_hot_**… and Samantha would admit only to herself that one of the reasons why she had seen Star Wars a dozen times was because of Han Solo.

Maybe an introspective, older, balding man was the way to go?

Oh God! Where did that thought come from? She was so embarrassed that she bit her lip. Samantha sternly warned herself to get her mind out of the gutter! He was a Colonel in the Air Force, the defacto 2IC of the base, and fraternization would be a quick ticket out of this once in a lifetime opportunity.

Yet everyone commented that if anything happened to O'Neill, Kawalsky would probably be put in charge of the base. Colonel Hammond was a figure head, a puppet… a running joke among the SGC and she wondered anew how the SGC could be so heartlessly cruel to one of their own.

In all honesty, Samantha was no better, as she had avoided sitting with him at lunch even after he had rescued her from Jonas. The Colonel had quirked a bitter half-smile at her when he saw that she was sitting with Team Geek.

Hammond appeared to abruptly realize where his hand was, as he apologized and removed it to safer grounds straight away.

"I'm really sorry, Ma'am," he apologized. "This is the first time that I actually had someone in the car with me. Usually, I drive alone, so I can put my hands wherever."

"That's ok," Samantha admitted. Then she blurted out, "You can put your hand back there…"

She was crimson, she knew it!

"That's right generous of you, Ma'am, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea that I'm getting fresh with you," he drawled. "I'll remember to keep my hands on the stick…."

* * *

George had a moment's unease over what he was planning to do to Samantha Carter. This seduction was almost painfully effortless. When he had caressed her upper thigh… _accidentally_… her breathing had quickened and she had unconsciously bitten her lower lip. Tomorrow, after he took her to the range again, he was planning on taking the scenic route back to Colorado Springs. What with the delay caused by road construction, Samantha would be trapped in the passenger seat for a couple hours, within easy reach of his wandering hand. 

It wasn't **_right_** to seduce Carter and break her heart into a thousand pieces, just to get payback on her old man. From all appearances, she had been far more of a victim of Jake Carter than he had ever been. He had been in Hotel Iraqi for slightly more than a year; she had to deal with Jake for almost thirty years.

Shit, thinking of Angie earlier had made him more and more aware of the fact that Aingeal Marisol Arroyo-López de Hammond would be exceedingly pissed over what he was planning.

_Angie, I get so lonely some times, and I get tired of getting treated with such contempt._

Unexpectedly, he **_heard_** Angie. Sometimes, when he was alone, he could hear her… In Iraq, when they had been beating the shit outta him, he had often imagined that she was in the cell with him, cradling his head in her lap, weeping that she couldn't protect him from the blows that were falling.

_¡Soy furioso contigo, Jorge! No tome su dolor hacia fuera en ella. Sea apacible con ella, George. Eres siempre apacible con mí._

George rubbed his temples, as Angie was apparently quite angry with him, cursing and screaming at him in Spanish that he shouldn't take his pain out on Samantha and demanding that he should be gentle with the girl.

_You didn't treat me like a whore on our first time together, Jorge._

_No, I couldn't treat you like that, Angie. _

_So don't treat her like one, because if you do, that means you're no better than Jonas. In fact, you'd be worse than Jonas, because you'd be hurting her just because of who her father is. It's not her fault who her father is, and you're right. He's done more damage to her than he ever did to you. _

Maybe…. Maybe he'd seduce Samantha anyway, attend to the most delicate of consummations with kid gloves and gentle caresses, just to prove to himself that he was still capable of the gentler human emotions. Since he was over the hill and sliding down the grade pretty damn fast, their coupling wouldn't be a fast, frenetic tumble in the backseat of the car.

The other boys at the SGC were used to Janet's worldly ways and they'd probably traumatize Samantha if they did it. He'd take his time, do things right and make sure she was comfortable and ready….

Perhaps, in time, a chary fondness could develop between them.

Who knows, maybe one day, she'd actually sit with him at lunch, rather than make half-hearted excuses about sitting with Team Geek.

Hell, while he was wishing fishes could fly, maybe he just better accept the fact that he'd destroy her one way or the other. He always brought everyone down to his level.

* * *

Samantha knew she looked ridiculous! Hammond's black, tattered sweatshirt was ridiculously large on her. She could use it as a maternity shirt, if she ever got pregnant … well… that is if she ever had **_sex_**. 

Hammond had quirked his trademarked and apparently copyrighted slight smile when she had taken off her cardigan in the parking lot. She had been wearing a short sleeve shirt underneath her cardigan, and Samantha just knew that Hammond was admiring 'the girls'. Jonas had often remarked to his friends, while she was within earshot, that 'the girls' were Samantha Carter's only redeeming features. Well at least, Hammond wasn't grinning ear to ear like a loon and commenting loudly about how he didn't need a pillow what with "the girls" keeping him warm at night.

"The Girls" had shown up early and then not merely happy with arriving early, had decided to keep on developing. When her few female friends had been excited about getting cute little training bras, her mother had already taken her to a specialty store where she learned about the indignities of painful underwire bras and the need for structural steel support for those doomed to a lifetime of wearing ugly over the shoulder, boulder holders.

But now George and Sam had checked into the range, and her firearm lesson was looming on the horizon. Quickly, she prayed that this lesson not turn into a repeat of the one she had years previously with her father where he had stormed off in disgust, loudly denigrating her as a complete klutz.

"What?" She questioned, uneasily, resisting the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest.

"You've got a cute figure," George drawled. "Don't know why you have to hide it behind an oversized cardigan."

"I was **_cold_**," she protested, wishing she sounded a bit less well… whiny.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I don't mean to be embarrassing you or making you feel uncomfortable," the Texan apologized again. "If I upset you by my coarse manners, you let me know, ok? Angie, she had to take a file and smooth off my rough edges. Truthfully, that she only smoothed my rough edges after she hit me with a big rock. She needed to crack my hard head open and pour some sense in it."

She laughed, as his self-deprecating humor was so wry that she found herself wanting to cheer and reassure him.

"You really do have a cute figure," Hammond repeated softly. He shook his head as though realizing that he had said that out loud.

"First things first, Ma'am… The gun you'll be practicing on is broken, and it will not fire. It also does not have bullets in it," Hammond explained. "Today you're going to learn about the fundamentals of my gun. You'll learn to respect it, not fear it. By the time, I'm done with you, you'll know to hold it in your hand, how tightly to grip it, how to sheathe a gun in your holster without causing it to discharge…"

He paused, licked his lips slowly, and then failed to hide another amused half-smile, before he continued smoothly, "Unless you want it to discharge prematurely…but that's no fun… for either the gun or the holster. You'll learn how to protect yourself from accidents, so you don't find yourself in unexpected trouble. By tomorrow, I want you to be **_empowered_**, not a victim…"

"Remember Doctor Carter, I'm an old Air Force Colonel. I've got enough experience for both of us, and I will teach you everything you need to know, and I will do everything I can, even I have to hold your hand the entire way, to turn your first time with a gun into a pleasant, enjoyable experience for you."

* * *

Samantha had to endure the mandatory gun safety review. Her father had given her the basics when she was younger, and in the following years, she had often reviewed the basics of handgun safety just in off chance her father wanted to take her back to the shooting range. Naturally, Jake Carter hadn't offered because in his mind, his daughter was a complete idiot with a handgun. 

Not so Hammond, who made several complimentary comments about how she answered his various questions regarding gun safety.

"It would have been nice to have you in the class when I was giving them the gun safety review. They just sat there, like a bunch of bumps on a log," Hammond sighed. "I would have appreciated having my star pupil there."

Sam just knew that she was blushing like a school girl with a crush. In the last hour, Hammond had told her that she had a cute figure and that she was his star pupil, and she was getting flustered by unfamiliar sensations of praise for her brains and approval of her looks. Hammond, fortunately, didn't notice, because no doubt he'd think derogatory comments about an übergeek having a crush on him.

For thirty minutes after the safety lesson, Hammond explained to her about the different parts of the gun, how to load and unload the weapon and obvious things to check when you had difficulties using it.

Then he led her to the firing range, and he pointed at the target. It was a black silhouette of a man on a white background, and she quickly guestimated the distance between her and "Him".

"Go ahead, aim and pretend to fire the gun," he drawled.

She did so, and she bit her lip when she saw Hammond shaking his head.

"Hold that position," the Colonel ordered.

The Colonel walked around her slowly while she still aimed the firearm at the target. Finally, he stopped circling her, and she realized that Hammond standing directly behind her. He moved closer to her, and when his body brushed against hers, she realized that her aim was getting shakier by the moment.

"First things first," Hammond said softly in her ear. "I'll have to put my hands on you to make sure you're positioned correctly. I'm not getting fresh."

"Ok," she said.

While Hammond moved still closer to her, and placed his hands on top of hers that were still holding the gun, she became hyperaware of such insignificant sensations. Hammond's soft breathing in her ear, his warm, callused hands resting on top of hers, the slight smell of cologne that had been on his sweatshirt was stronger now as he was also wearing it now. His body was so close to hers… her knees were shaky, and oh God! She would die from embarrassment if her knees wobbled!

"Hold the position, Doctor," he whispered in her ear. "I haven't given you permission to be at ease yet."

"How long are you going to keep me like this?" She wanted to ask, but instead she concentrated on steadying her aim.

"Hold it," he instructed. "Sixty more seconds…."

Samantha began counting down to zero, but by the time she got to twenty, Hammond announced in her ear, "Fifty….."

When he finally announced, "Time, at ease Doctor," she quickly exhaled, not realizing that she had been holding her breath. Her pulse was bounding like a lab puppy exploring the great outdoors and it took a while for her to catch her breath. What had been most surprising to her was how physically tense she had been and the physical rush she had experienced when she finally been allowed to relax.

Hammond stepped away from her and then removed his hands from hers.

"There are no bullets in the gun," he explained. "I want you to confirm that."

Her hands shaking, she checked the gun and confirmed that there were no bullets.

"Give me the gun," George ordered. He took it from her and put it into the case, then locked it. "Shaky hands with a gun make me extremely nervous."

She began to protest, and then he shhh'd her.

"Close your eyes," he stated. "I want you to close your eyes, and do what I tell you."

Samantha closed her eyes, and she felt ridiculous. Fortunately the range was empty, which seemed surprising considering it was Saturday morning.

"I understand that you're nervous," George whispered in her ear. "It's your first time, and you're not sure what to expect. That's why I'm here, because your first time needs to be with someone who's experienced."

He continued whispering in her ear, slowly and deliberately.

"I want you to inhale, slowly….. hold it…. And exhale. You need to relax. I know you're nervous, but you need to understand how truly delicate and sensitive what you're holding was… It filled your hands nicely, didn't it?"

She nodded.

"It's a good size for you. Not too small… not too big…fits awfully nice…in your grip…"

"But you need to be careful about the trigger. Don't squeeze unless you want it to discharge. You have to be careful, like you're holding a butterfly in your hands…"

George tsk'd, tsk'd after that, and he sighed.

"Your shoulders are entirely too tight," he explained. "You need to be loose and relaxed, because you don't want to be so tense when the gun is fired. Let me loosen your shoulders"

George put his hands on her shoulders, and he began rubbing them. His fingers worked his way up her neck and the tingles were returning with a vengeance.

"You need to relax. I understand completely. You're nervous. It's your first time. You wonder what it's going to be like. What it's going to feel like. That's why I'm here, I'm experienced, and I can make sure you don't pick any bad habits."

"You've got to stop anticipating what may happen, Doctor Carter," he continued to explain in her ear while he continued to rub her neck. "So tight… you need to let go. Stop anticipating, and just do it. I'll make sure everything's ok and everything's done safely."

He was still rubbing her neck and then massaging her shoulders and it felt so damn good. She was getting a strange fluttering sensation in her belly and surrounding areas and…still his fingers kept massaging her.

"Some women… they worry….far too much…" His voice was honey smooth, and just so deep and rumbling. "Turn it into an empowering moment for you. It's a feeling of power, a feeling of being in control…and once your first time is out of the way, you'll be so utterly relaxed…. And you'll realize that there was nothing of which to be afraid. You might find out that you enjoy it and that you want to do again and **_again_**…"

"You had a bad teacher," George continued slowly. "He wanted to take things at his pace. He should have realized that you were young and you were nervous. Understanding and patience… would have made everything so much easier for you. Instead he was in a hurry, only worrying about himself."

His hands were now rubbing the back of head, where her skull and neck met, she could feel herself turning to goo under his hands and George was still whispering in her ear.

"I'm an old man, Doctor Carter. I'll take as long as you need to feel comfortable. Hours… days…Relax and I can take those unpleasant memories from you…and replace them with very pleasant ones indeed…."

"How about weeks… Months?" She whispered softly.

"I know you want to do it…you want to figure out what all the fuss is about… and once you trust me… you'll let me teach you…I don't think it'll take you months to grab your courage. Open your eyes now, Doctor Carter."

And Samantha opened her eyes, still wondering if George was still only talking about the handgun. He had stopped rubbing her neck, with a final, teasing stroke of one finger, and Hammond was taking the gun out of its locked case.

"You're still shaking, Doctor. Don't tell me that you're frightened…" He put his hands on hers, showing her how to hold the gun correctly. "No… you're not frightened, you're shaking in anticipation…."

And so that's how her lesson continued and she grew more and more flustered.

* * *

He was breaking cardinal rule number one with guns. George wasn't paying absolute attention to the gun; instead he was deliberately trying to seduce Samantha… mentally. Everything he said was strictly on the up and up, but he was well aware of the fact that the young lady was taking everything he said in the **_wrong_** way. 

Yes, the gun that she was using to practice was empty, plus it was busted to boot. Tomorrow, he'd give her a real gun with live ammo, but today, he was just putting her through her paces. After his stay in Hotel Iraqi, he was good at mind games, as he had used them to survive, but this time, the prize was far, far sweeter, and Samantha Carter was a babe in the woods. A few soft touches, some rather tame comments about the gun that someone with a dirty mind would immediately equate to sex, and a lot of hands on to show her the correct positions had her completely flustered.

George had taken Doctor Carter out of her familiar surroundings of home and lab, and then once they had arrived at the firing range, he had insisted that she leave her cardigan in his car. She was nervous and uneasy, and he just kept touching her carefully and deliberately, just a touch too long to be completely professional.

Finally she requested a break, and he granted it. She took excellent care of the gun, making sure it was safely secured, even though Carter knew it was broken and unable to fire. Then she fled to the break room which was fortunately empty.

Samantha was sitting on the bench and she was literally hugging herself. He sat down next to her and offered her a bottle of water.

Carter refused, so he deliberately placed it against both sides of her neck. She shivered from the cold and he again suggested that she drink.

"You're pale, Doctor Carter, and you're shaking. You're overheating, take my sweat shirt off," he recommended, trying to convey his concern.

He tugged the sweatshirt off her, easily undressing her, and then he continued to rub the icy cold water bottle against her face and neck. A surprisingly unresisting and mute Samantha did not voice a protest over his ministrations. His other hand was possessively resting on the small of her back, and George could feel Samantha Carter **_vibrating_** for the lack of a better word. Not shaking in anticipation and desire, but **_vibrating_**, the type of body-encompassing trembling that usually foretold that your plane was about to fall apart and you'd be praying to the Gods of the Martin-Baker Ejection Seat that you'd make it back to Terra Firma.

**_Shit!_** He had pushed her too far, too fast today. Somewhere along the line, he had decided the hell with Janet's crazy idea of destroying her competition, and to instead focus on going slowly with Samantha. He had only teased her with words, and soft touches. He hadn't pushed her into a corner... hadn't even tried to kiss her... yet she was physically shaking.

_Damn Jonas! Damn your father too!_

"Hey…. Talk to me… are you ok?" Hammond asked gently.

"Colonel Hammond," Samantha whispered. Her soft voice was shaky, and he cursed himself again for unintentionally traumatizing her. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes, Samantha…. Did I upset you? I'm so sorry, if I did…. Tell me, dear," he asked softly, trying to convey his apology in his tone of voice.

She looked away from him, and he moved his arm from the small of her back to her shoulder.

"Come on, my dear Samantha, can you tell this old cowboy what I did to upset you?" George pleaded.

He heard her say something, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"Come on, dear, how did this dumb flyboy get you so distressed?"

She shook her head, and she put her hands over her face. Shit. He had her in **_tears_**!

"I'm so sorry, Samantha, I'm just a dumb mule from Texas. I'm dumber than a rock and uglier than homemade sin, and I think I know I did. You just nod your head if I'm right, you hear? Did I make you uncomfortable with what I was saying? I don't much experience with young, pretty ladies and since Angie died, I haven't talked to any ladies, 'specially not as intelligent and classy like you. Was I too crude? I told you to let me know."

Her questions were repeated, and he unexpectedly realized how much it cost Samantha emotionally to ask, "Are you flirting with me?"

She looked at him, and her blue eyes were tearful.

"Or are you being cruel because you think it's funny to tease me?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

**_Rating:_**MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach and have run screaming for the hills.

I think that's a compliment?

We had left poor little geek!sam confused by the crazy!Colonel's witty gun references and so our poor little geek!sam had hesitantly asked him if he was playing mind games.

* * *

Oh God, she was so embarrassed! She was crying and trembling, like a complete idiot. Her legs were quivering uncontrollably, and her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing and it had taken all her courage to ask Colonel Hammond if he was flirting with her. 

"Are you flirting with me?"

Samantha looked at him, and she saw nothing but worry on his face. There was none of the all too familiar derision or mocking amusement, instead Hammond's blue green eyes appeared **_concerned_**.

"Or are you being cruel because you think it's funny to tease me?"

She whispered that last part, before she wiped her tears away on Hammond's sweatshirt that she was holding, all the while not wanting to reveal to Hammond how often that had been the case. In high school, Samantha had been asked to the senior prom by her crush, a handsome, utterly self-absorbed jock that she had tutored through elementary algebra so he could get his football scholarship. Bryan had called a few minutes before he was due to arrival at her house for the mandatory prom photos with her parents, and claimed that he was quite ill. So Samantha had gone solo to her prom, after her parents had insisted that she attend anyway, as they had paid good money for her nice dress, the shoes that had been dyed to match and the tickets.

To her complete lack of surprise, she had found Bryan there, dancing with Monique.

He had laughed at her when she had angrily told him that she was glad he was feeling better, and so Samantha had slunk away, in her far too expensive blue taffeta dress that she had pleaded with her mom to buy because she had felt **_beautiful_** when she wore the dress. It had been too early to go home and she couldn't bear to further disappoint her mother who had been so excited that Samantha had been going out on a REAL date to her senior prom, so she had escaped to the football stands where she had cried the night away. Even there she hadn't been safe, as a couple guys tried to pick her up as an easy lay.

When her mom had picked her up, Samantha had lied and told her what a wonderful time she had at her prom even without Bryan, how she had felt like a princess in her beautiful blue dress, and oh…yes… she had even danced! Samantha's mom, Annie, had been so thrilled, because Annie had never gone to her senior prom, as she had been a month or two pregnant with Mark, and Sam's grandparents had refused to allow her mother to **_flaunt_** her expectant condition. No, her mother had never gone to her prom, never had a party celebrating her graduation from high school, instead Annie had secretly gotten married to Jacob Carter the day after she had graduated from high school, with Jake having just finished his third year of college.

Sometimes, Sam had wondered if she was really living her own life. These thoughts were too familiar, the dark doubts surfacing in her subconscious far too often that she was actually living the life her parents had wanted to live, whether it was her father's highly regimented quest for a Stanford education, and her Doctorate or the care-free, exciting life her mom had never experienced, which resulted in failed attempts to teach Samantha how to style her hair and wear makeup. Perhaps there was a life she should be leaving, but she had never been allowed to experience.

Annie Carter had always told Samantha not to make the same mistakes that she had done, to complete school, to be self-sufficient without relying on a man to complete one's self-esteem and to never find herself being paraded down the main aisle of the local church with a fully loaded shotgun nudging the groom in the back.

"No, dear," Hammond said softly. "I wouldn't dream of disrespecting you. Don't you think that I might get weary of being mocked? Don't you believe that I hate getting spit in my face time and time again? How could I do subject anyone else to that?"

Hammond put his hands on her face, and to her embarrassment, he gently wiped away her tears with his thumbs. It was a surprising caring gesture, and his tenderness made her cry all the harder.

"Don't cry, dear. Forgive me, for being a ham-fisted old cowboy. Since I came back… I really don't deal with many people and I get so damn tired of being solitary. You know? And I don't know how to talk to people anymore… especially not to a lady like you. You're pretty, you're damn smart, and if you could only learn how to handle a gun, why you'd be perfect."

Samantha laughed at his wry comment, and Hammond gave her another half-smile.

"Since my wife died… when I need female… I mean…physical… companionship, there's someone that I see… I don't mean to embarrass you by admitting that, but…"

She flinched when George admitted that.

"No, it's nothing serious. She's no lady, and I accept the fact that I'm nothing more than a charity case for her. I'd be fooling myself if I thought the bitch actually cared about me, as for her, I'm nothing more than a freak show attraction. It's not an exclusive relationship for her, as I know she sees other men on the side. But she gives me a few minutes' peace, and I gladly take what few crumbs she deigns to offer me because it's better than nothing."

"I lose my self-respect in the process, but at least, I can pretend for a few minutes that someone actually cares for me."

"The reason why I'm telling you this is so you understand that I didn't mean to push too far just now. She prefers it… **_rough_**, you know what I mean? I obviously have forgotten what it's like to let an attractive lady know that I'm interested. I really hope you don't think I was pawing you. I enjoy… touching…caressing…the female form and I hoped since you didn't tell me to stop that you were enjoying it also."

"Samantha," Hammond whispered in a very soft voice that was almost a physical caress. "Forgive a half-crazed, lonely old man for being too rough? I did try… to be… gentle, but I've been informed by a very good source, my fuck buddy, that my emotional wiring's a might short-circuited."

Oh God, she was crying again, this time because she could sense Hammond's emotional pain which she had unintentionally increased.

"Let's call it a day," the Colonel offered. "If you want, tomorrow, we'll continue your lessons. If you're not comfortable with me teaching you, probably Kawalsky or Ferretti might be willing."

* * *

George was quiet after they left the firing range, mentally cursing himself out for terrorizing and torturing Samantha. Fuck, he was no better than Janet, who played mental mind games on him just because she could turn him into a complete basket case if she so desired. 

He had stumbled through an apology, talking more in those ten minutes than he had in the last three years since his mental snap, and Samantha hadn't said anything. She had just cried and she had wiped her tears away on his far too large sweatshirt, until he had started wiping her tears away his fingers because he had nothing else available in which to wipe them away. When she had stopped sobbing, they had retreated from the firing range at a fast clip, thankfully not seeing anybody else on the way out.

Now she was sitting next to him in the passenger's seat, not saying a single word. George couldn't think of anything to say, and he got more and more worked up, obsessing over what he had said, what he had done and what a world class bastard he was.

Naturally, the one time he wanted a quick trip back to Colorado Springs, everything went to hell and they were soon stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. According to the radio, there had been a hell of a fender bender a few miles up the road, with medivac helicopters landing, and multiple ems and fire departments responding. So the two of them sat in his Mustang, a guarded, wary silence being the other passenger in the car, and he was being damn careful not to touch Samantha even accidentally, when he felt her hand on his right hand. Samantha pulled it toward her body and she deliberately placed his hand on her leg.

His hand was still being guided higher up her leg, and then his breathing quickened as George realized where Samantha was placing his hand. High up on her leg, higher up that he had originally dared, near the Y junction of her legs.

"I liked it when you touched me there," Samantha admitted softly, after she had put his hand dangerously close to no man's land. "It felt… **_nice_**…"

George, not daring to look at Samantha, asked her a simple question. "You… will… let me know if you're uncomfortable or uneasy?"

"Yes," she agreed in a very soft voice. "I'm sorry about getting so upset. I'm not used to anyone being interested in me. Usually, I'm the butt of a big practical joke that everyone's in on except for me."

Carefully, he began caressing her inner thigh, slowly and possessively, yet with a very light touch.

"Slower? Or faster?" He questioned.

"Slower," Samantha answered.

"Too much pressure? Or too little," George asked.

She didn't answer him, so he turned to face her, and he quirked a smile. Samantha had her eyes closed, her hands wrapped tightly around her lap belt, and she looked like a cat who had fallen into a big vat of Catnip.

It became a game to him; the rough feel of Samantha's denim jeans as he rubbed her leg, the mix of soft, gentle quick touches verses long, stroking caresses ranging from her knee to just an inch or two below where she probably really wanted him. Samantha would quiver sometimes, and once or twice, she gasped a slight moan, and by God, he had to admit that he was getting really turned on.

Especially with the stop and go traffic.

They'd go a few feet, have to stop, and he'd start rubbing her leg, enjoying the way Samantha's leg quivered under his touch. Then the traffic would move so he'd have to stop touching so to switch gears, and then so on and so on for the next three miles. Sometimes, he wouldn't rush back to caress her and she'd grab his hand and place it where she wanted.

Well, maybe not where she truly wanted his hand.

This time, they had gained all of ten feet of pavement before stopping, and he had his hand on the stick shift, before she grabbed his hand, and just held onto it with both of her hands.

"Problem?" He questioned.

"Talk to me, please," Samantha whispered. "It's getting a little intense for me, so I need to cool down."

"Cooling down can be fun; we can get some ice cubes, find out how sensitive you are to the cold." He teased Samantha before George quickly turned serious. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I won't put out tonight," she said quickly. "So don't even think it. _Please_. Don't be angry, I just can't."

That was blurted out quickly, as though Samantha had grabbed her courage to say it.

Fortunately, they were still stopped, so George could turn to face her. He removed his hand from hers, and he put it on her neck, carefully so to caress her. Hammond could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch. Her blue eyes were apprehensive and he knew that she needed reassurance.

"Not asking you to do that," he informed her in a very soft voice, one which he had soothed Tessa and Kayla with after they had woken up crying from their nightmares. "If you have a hankering to take this old battered warhorse to your bed, you'll be the one extending the invitation, dear. I won't press the issue with you, and I certainly don't expect you to 'put out' tonight or any other night. If and when it finally happens between us, you won't be 'putting out' dear, we'll be making love, and there's a big difference between the two experiences."

"I told you, I'm an old man. The fires aren't completely quelched yet, but it takes more than you dropping your pants and winking at me to cause my fire to kindle. If you agree, I plan on a tremendous amount of flirting and foreplay…"

"Tremendous amounts?" Samantha questioned with a very shaky laugh.

"Days… weeks…as long as you need for you to feel comfortable with what might be occurring between us next," he explained. "The ball is in your court."

George gave her a saucy leer before he continued smoothly, "And you will get to call the shots. Dear, I know you're a virgin. I know your past experiences have not been pleasant, but I also am fully aware of the fact that normally someone as pretty and smart as you are wouldn't even look twice in my direction. I'm a broken down war horse, Samantha…"

"Don't say that," Samantha pleaded.

"It's the truth, and I won't deny it," George insisted. "I am a spavined, ornery old mule who desires to give you the ride of your life, dear."

Samantha looked away from him and she was blushing yet she had an ear to ear grin. Saints alive! Carter had **_dimples_**.

The car behind them honked and George grimaced.

"Don't know why he's getting so excited, we've only moved two feet," he growled.

* * *

They held hands for the remainder of the way home, except for when he needed to shift gears. It was… nice… holding his hand, and to her surprised delight, George hadn't seemed upset when she had told him that she wasn't putting out tonight. Jonas would have been pissed, but George had been rather relaxed about her refusal to 'put out'. 

No… he had gently chided her about her use of "putting out" and he had corrected her, informing her that she wasn't planning on **_making love_** tonight. George insisted there was a difference, and he'd wait for her to be ready. George had been really gentlemanly about it, and Samantha wished that she could just get over her fear and just do it. But after dealing with Jonas for that short time had made her leery of trusting men… especially in that matter.

After a particularly long stretch in the car and he was teasing her by resting his hand on the stick shift, Samantha captured his hand again. His hand was large and callused, and she stroked it for a bit with her free hand. Gathering her courage, she placed her left hand on his right thigh, thinking that she should reciprocate his caresses somehow…. George seemed like a decent guy, the SGC rumors of his craziness not withstanding, and… God, he was willing to be patient with her nervousness and her sexual awkwardness.

She shouldn't be surprised at that, as he hadn't even screamed at her once at the firing range.

Fact is he hadn't even raised his voice. No, instead, he had given her compliments, pointed out what she was doing correctly and praised her for her strict observance of gun safety rules.

Damn it, Samantha chastised herself. Just admit the truth to yourself, Sam! He was the first guy who was interested in her in far too long. Ok, he was also the only man whose interest in her had seemed to be on the up and up.

So she was more than willing to pounce!

Unfortunately, Samantha Carter knew that what she considered to be sexually **_pouncing_** was probably woefully insipid to the widower. Oh damn it, he was married for years, had been seeing someone to scratch his physical itch and she had a Big Scarlet V on her cardigan.

Yet, George had sounded wistful when he talked about the bitch he was bedding, the …. bitch… who treated him like he was a freak but who still managed to give him a few minute's peace to his weary soul. The Colonel sounded lonely, and maybe, just maybe, he was willing to accept her sexual inadequacies because he was tired of the Queen Bitch's derision and contempt.

Maybe he thought that Samantha was so desperate for companionship that she'd lower herself to actually date him. Little did George comprehend, that Samantha wasn't lowering herself to reach his level; instead she was reaching upwards towards the sky.

Carefully, she began rubbing his leg, and to her shame, he took her hand away from his leg.

"Was I doing it wrong?" Samantha asked, staring out the window, not wanting to look at George.

This was so **_humiliating_**! Thirty years old, a virgin, and she couldn't even touch a guy without him desiring her hands off him.

"Samantha," George's voice was soft. "Let me assure you that you were doing that entirely too well, and we were in imminent danger of me driving off the thruway as I was getting distracted by a certain sexy little vixen in the passenger's seat."

"Really?" Samantha blurted out in surprise, before she bit her lip, wishing that she didn't sound so damn…. adolescent.

"Really," he assured her.

* * *

George walked her to the door of her apartment, and after she opened the door, Samantha then shyly asked him in. 

"We were in your car for hours! Do you want something to drink?"

She was obviously, painfully nervous, and while he was tempted to accept her invitation as he was a tad bit thirsty, George abruptly realized that Samantha didn't care if he was thirsty, she just wanted nothing more than to maneuver him into her bed.

**_That afternoon._**

Samantha was willing to give her virginity to him, then and there, just because in all probability he was the first and only man in her life that hadn't belittled her or denigrated her. He was all at once overwhelmed with a fierce, raging hatred for one Major General Jacob Carter.

George had thought he had despised the man he nicknamed Jake the Snake before meeting Jake's daughter, but after seeing first hand the damage that Jake's personality had done to Samantha, it had been like pouring gasoline on a fire and throwing nitro in just for shits and giggles. His bitter rage had crescendo into a fiery inferno and he vowed that one day he'd cold cock Jacob Carter with a good hard left, then kick him in the balls.

Samantha had such low self esteem that she was willing to take him to her bed… and if he agreed, he'd just compound with interest, her self-respect issue.

_**Damn it, Jacob, don't you see what you've done to your daughter?**_

And he had dreamed up that stupid idea to hurt Samantha just because of her misfortune of having an absolute bastard as a father. What a monster he was! Thank God, Angie had hit him in the head with a 2X4.

"No, dear," he assured her. "If I stay, I might weaken in my resolve to wait until you're ready."

"I'm not afraid," she insisted, her voice trembling slightly. She bit her lip in that all too adorable way of hers. "I'm not. I'm ready… I was just surprised that you were interested in me. Please don't go. Stay, have a drink…we can talk…"

"Samantha… an enjoyable part of the entire experience is the waiting, the anticipation…. There has to be a relationship between us, a trust, an emotional bond, Samantha before we decide to take it to the physical level. Don't rush this," he whispered. "Just enjoy. This is new for you, and the worst thing would be for you to wake one day and realized that you had rushed in head first into making love with me and you were plagued with second thoughts and bitter regrets."

"I want to talk," Samantha protested. "I want to ask a few questions. I want to get to know you. Stay, have a drink…"

He put his finger on her lip to silence her.

"My favorite color is either green or blue. I prefer dogs rather than cats, though I have neither. No, I won't be seeing that other woman again…."

Samantha blushed, as though she was mortified that he had guessed that she had been wondering.

"Because it wouldn't be right to you. In fact, I turned her down recently, so I'm assuming that she has already found another willing man to fill my time slot. Also, we'll need to keep this out of the workplace. It won't be fraternization, because you and I know that I'm not really the 2IC at the base. I'm just… a figure head. But the others… they might harass and tease you for seeing the crazy colonel."

She tried to say something but he shhhh'd her.

"It's what I live with there…." He reminded her. "I couldn't let you experience that level of cruelty."

"I will get blood work done to confirm that I don't have anything that you don't want to get. You're probably been shot up with whatever they're giving the ladies at the SGC currently, but I will still wear condoms until we're absolutely, positively sure I don't have anything icky. Dear, our society has placed an ungodly amount of attention on what should be a private matter between two people. Remember, it's first and foremost a wonderful way to make babies. Far better than a syringe and test tube," he reminded her with a leer. "I've already had a hand and a few more body parts involved in creating my…."

He paused, unexpectedly overcome with painful, emotional memories, "My two beautiful girls…"

George couldn't continue, as he was trying to blink back his tears.

"So …beautiful…they… looked like… Angie… Thank God…"

He never talked about his daughters to anyone, except on the few insistences where Mack the Quack had poked and prodded until he had said something, and he never mentioned Kayla and Tessa to anyone. Their lives had been filled with such promise, cut short by a drunken seventeen year old, and their deaths, along with their husbands and their children, were festering holes in his wounded heart that would never ever heal.

It was then that Samantha Carter pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his lips. Her kiss was awkward, her technique tentative but she put more effort into kissing him than Janet Fraiser ever had. He was startled by her boldness, but he quickly kissed her back, and before he knew it, he had half dragged, half carried her into her apartment, and….

An unexpected moment of pain brought him back to senses.

"Shit," he growled, as an inexperienced Samantha had kissed his neck a little too enthusiastically and he knew that he'd be sporting a large hickey.

"Ooops," she whispered. Samantha looked embarrassed and he sternly warned himself not to laugh.

"You did that **_deliberately_**," he teased her.

"I didn't… I swear," Samantha apologized. He put two fingers over her mouth and he leaned in close to her.

"You marked me as yours," he growled playfully. "I should do the same for you. Fortunately, I think I can hide it with my BDU collar… but I should mark you somewhere, where everyone will know that you're mine. Close your eyes, and tilt your head back, so I can return the favor."

He wouldn't give her a hickey, but Samantha didn't know him well enough to know that he was teasing her. To give your lover a hickey accidentally in the throes of passion was one thing, but for him to do it deliberately, it was like smacking his open palm against Samantha's face just to leave a bruise signifying to one and to all that he owned her.

Instead, Samantha closed her eyes, tilted her head back and she bit her lip, anxiously waiting for him to deliver his promised retribution. Carefully, he nuzzled each side of her neck, making sure to not leave any marks, and then he removed his fingers from her lips. Then he placed his lips on her soft lips and he kissed her gently. Mouth closed at first, he then slowly progressed to open mouth kissing, and then he nudged her lips apart with his tongue. George did everything slowly and carefully, trying to guide Samantha carefully through this new experience and he could feel Samantha relax even as their kiss deepened.

George broke apart from her and then he kissed her softly on her lips.

"Wow," she whispered when she finally caught her breath.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Samantha. Taking it slow can be….enjoyable," he insisted. "I've told you, the media makes it sound like sex is the end all and be all of life, but I won't let you rush into it. Making love is a spiritual and emotional commitment, Samantha. I'm not talking of a hurried night, a frantic tumble then a shy goodbye, where I go back home before it gets too light. You deserve better, Samantha. You deserve so much better than that," he insisted. "You're a lady, and I need to make sure I treat you with the respect you deserve."

Samantha was a slight shade of pink, and he carefully adjusted her glasses that had been knocked askew during their kissing.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the same time," he suggested. "Maybe you could come over to my place and have dinner when we're done? I could cook or we could grab take out somewhere."

"That sounds lovely," Samantha murmured.

"Maybe I could rent a movie? Something Alien related or something with a wormhole…That way it can be work related training."

Samantha nodded her agreement.

"So… do I get a kiss goodbye?" Hammond questioned plaintively. "I don't know why I have to ask…"

His gentle teasing caused Samantha to blush, and then she kissed him again. She was a quick learner, he decided, as her kiss was a little less nervous, hesitant schoolgirl and significantly more 'I'd be happy to take you on the floor right now'.

When they were done neckin', he walked toward the door. George knew that he really had to leave before he decided to stay.

"George?"

"Yes, dear," He answered softly.

"You'll let me play with your gun tomorrow, right?" Samantha blurted.

She was so obviously self-conscious about her attempt at flirting and rather prettily rosily cheeked, but George knew enough not to smile.

"You're getting a lot of hands on tomorrow, at the firing range, and I'll have to think about what will happen later," George assured her.

* * *

George left her apartment and Samantha tried not to dance around like a complete idiot in her excitement. She had been out (ok, almost) on a **_real_** date and George had been content with a few kisses instead of trying to get into her pants. And what kisses they had been! Her knees had trembled and she had gotten tingly all over. Jonas had never kissed her like that, in fact, his kisses had been like being slobbered over by an over excited Labrador puppy. For someone who was so interested in sex, Jonas was rapidly being classified as a rank amateur when she compared him to George. 

And George had been good-naturedly amused when she had accidentally hooverized his neck. Jonas would have probably returned the favor in spades, leaving her looking like she had wrestled with a battalion of Hoover Attachments and had lost the war. He would have given her hickies in the most conspicuous of places just to embarrass the hell out of her, but George had just kissed her a few more times.

Gently.

And his mouth had lingered on both sides of her neck. That had **_tickled_**!

"I need to find something better to wear tomorrow!" Samantha said out loud. "Something… casual…. And **_fun_**…."

Then she thought that maybe she should ditch the plain white cotton bra and panties, and go for something a little more daring.

Maybe something in blue… or green?

Yes, it was time for Samantha to go on a serious shopping expedition, but she didn't really have any girl friends in Colorado. Chloe was out of the question… but maybe Janet Fraiser? Janet had seemed nice and the doctor had given Sam her phone number and told her to call anytime.

So Samantha picked up the phone and dialed Janet. Janet answered on the third ring, and Samantha told her that she wanted to go shopping for new clothes that night and she wanted someone's opinion.

"I really don't have good taste," she admitted.

Janet quickly agreed, stating that she had nothing better planned, so they decided that they'd meet at Sam's apartment, go shopping and then have dinner and drinks.

* * *

Samantha Carter was energized, flush in the giddy excitement of her obvious crush on Colonel Hammond and for a moment Janet Fraiser truly hated the other woman. She had once felt like that toward her ex, Bernard, and everything had gone so horribly wrong when she had arrived home a day early from a conference in Buffalo and found her husband and her BROTHER in bed together. 

Since Bernie was at that time still in the service, she had grabbed her camera, took assorted photos while they were too busy in the throes of passion to notice, and had printed them off in glossy 8X10s which were hand delivered to his CO while her divorce lawyer had gotten them in poster size.

Then and there when she had gotten her divorce decree, she had solemnly vowed never to be a victim. Gone was the happy-go-lucky Janet Fraiser. Instead, she called the shots in her new relationships as she found most men to be pathetically weak and thinking only with the wrong head. Offer them pleasure and they'd do **_anything_** to continue it.

Sex – it was the only thing for which men were good.

She had let down her barriers only twice, to Jonathan J. O'Neill, who had assured her that he was getting a divorce until he knocked up his wife and then it was, "Too bad, Janet, but can I still see you on Thursdays?" and Colonel George Hammond.

George would probably deny the depths of her feelings for him with his last, dying breathing, claiming that she felt nothing but contempt for him, but she did have a soft spot for him. When he stood there, on her door step before their first time together, clutching his offering of a bouquet of flowers for her, so painfully hoping that someone actually cared for him, as a **_person_**, yet believing that she, like everyone else in his life, held nothing but disdain for him, the sight had quite broken her heart.

Janet had almost turned him away then and there, because she knew that the shattered Colonel yearned for more than she could ever possibly give him. She was damaged goods, bitter and emotionally shattered after her divorce and he needed someone who was capable of healing him emotionally.

George wasn't the best stud in her stable, not by a long shot. He didn't have the youthful vigor of Lt. Simmons, the willingness to experiment like Siler, and he snored to wake the dead in China on the few times he had actually fallen asleep in her bed. But Hammond had a gentle touch, and had an almost gentlemanly consideration for his partner's enjoyment. Janet admitted to no one, except herself, that she enjoyed their couplings. Sometimes, she felt uneasy at the men passing through her revolving door, wondering if her hatred toward her ex and her brother had twisted her into nothing more than a bitter whore.

Hammond never made her feel like a whore, as he always thanked her for her sweet compassion before he left her bed, like she was doing **_him_** the favor. Yet, he was comfortable making the occasional quips about her Golden Arches and her supposed need to get a new mattress every few weeks. In other words, George Hammond knew **_exactly_** what she was, but he still treated her with respect.

Sometimes, he **_still_** brought her flowers, as though they were actually dating. The thoughtful gesture touched her, the simple gift of flowers, as none of her other boys gave her flowers, and so she had vainly protested that he didn't need to spend his money on her.

"No, dear, let me do this for you. I **_need_** to do this," he had protested, and so he had won the battle and the war, and how she **_hated_** that happy feeling she felt when he handed her flowers because it was just a weakness in herself that would be exploited.

The colonel still loved his wife with all his heart and soul and Janet wondered if his fanatical, obsessive devotion to Angie was because he was guilt-stricken because Angie had died while he was a POW in Iraq. Old school and with his morals still firmly intact, the very idea that anyone would stray on their marital partner was anathema to the colonel_. Love and Cherish, until death you do part,_ George was still holding to that vow, even though Angie was long dead.

Maybe that's why she liked George so much, because he'd never cheat on his spouse.

"Thank you for coming over," Samantha said excitedly. "I need to buy some clothes and I saw that leather jacket you wore to work the other day. It was **_sweet_**. I'm just hopeless with stuff like this."

* * *

Janet Fraiser had taken Samantha Carter's Visa and yelled, "**_CHARGE IT_**!" at the top of the escalator at the mall and then had decided Samantha was buying out the entire mall. Least that's how it seemed to Samantha, because Janet was busy spending her money. She had great taste, Samantha admitted, but a little more daring than what Samantha was comfortable. 

"You've got a cute figure," Janet protested as she held up a shirt with a plunging neckline. "You've got… **_assets_**, Samantha. Men love what you've got. Take it from me; those are the first thing guys notice on a woman and you want to show them off to get their attention. That's what their eyes notice first."

Samantha blushed and asked softly, "Really?"

"Well, that's what the dogs notice first. They notice the boobs, the rear and then they decide to look at the face. There are a few guys that aren't like that, but they are rare and far between. Like… Hammond, for example. He's a gentleman; he doesn't stare at a girl's rack. So tell me… is he the reason you're getting all the new clothes?"

She grimaced, knew that she was bright crimson again, and Janet laughed.

"Oh ho! He is indeed! Then we need to get you something really **_sexy_**…"

"He took me the shooting range today, to teach me how to shoot," Samantha tried to defend herself and her purchases. "I was chilly, I wore a cardigan. It was so embarrassing because I could tell he thought I was a geek."

"So… did you like his gun?" Janet questioned with a very sly tone in her voice.

Damn it, she was blushing harder, as all she could think of was **_how_** George had kept talking about guns and his hands on approach to teaching her about **_his_** gun.

"Guns are ok," Samantha answered finally. "I don't know if I could actually shoot someone."

"How do you think you're going to defend yourself?" asked Janet. "If you don't want to use a gun."

"Explosives…" she admitted. "I can handle them."

Janet laughed again and Samantha finally had enough.

"**_WHAT_**," she growled.

"It doesn't matter how long the wick, so long as it has a big boom," Janet teased. "Now let's go find something that will give you a **_really big boom_**."

* * *

After Janet had completely updated her wardrobe, and they had dropped the half dozen bags off at her car, Samantha was quite embarrassed when Janet grabbed her hand and pulled her into Frederick's. **_Frederick's of Hollywood_**! Good God, it was notorious! What if one of the guys from the SGC saw the two of them in the store! You know, like DANIEL JACKSON or even worse, Rodney! 

Janet was quite familiar with the store, apparently, as she marched over to one area and pulled something off the rack. Samantha nearly died on the spot as the 'outfit' consisted of four pieces of string and not much else.

"Now that I've shocked your system," Janet purred. "Let's go over there. This section is a little racy, and you really aren't ready for that."

So began the battle of the lingerie section, as Samantha tried for long, flowing and body covering, while Janet tried for erotic and sexy. Their discussions drew the attention of several sales people, who having no one else to harass as it was a slow night, decided to put their two cents in.

"Virginal!" The lanky redhead chirped when Samantha pulled out something that she thought was quite nice.

"It's our first time," Samantha protested. "I want something **_nice_**."

It was long, flowing, covered everything and it came with a nice silk robe.

"Even my great aunt Martha, who's 98 years old and lives in a retirement colony in Boca Raton, wouldn't be caught dead wearing that," the cashier chimed in.

"Stay away from white," said the blonde. "It screams virginal, it screams wedding, it screams desperate need for commitment, it screams lets settle down and make lots of babies, and most guys will run out the door if they see white in an outfit like THAT. Since it's your first time with him, you want to give him something that's racy, but not sleazy."

"A good girl playing at being bad!" The cashier yelled.

"Ignore him, he's here for the discount," hissed the blonde.

And so the catcalling began. By the time the Lingerie Inquisition had finished, Samantha had answered far too much personal information about herself and George.

"So, he's older, military, was married for over twenty years, but now he's a widower, he hasn't really looked at a woman since his wife died…"

"He's a **_romantic_** then…" sighed a curvy brunette that had appeared from behind another rack full of outfits that consisted of fishnets and string.

"This rack," suggested the cashier, standing fifteen feet way. "And his favorite colors are blue and green. Well, this is it! He'll be saluting you in no time in this, girlfriend!"

It was silky and blue, the same color as her dress at her senior prom, a flyaway baby doll that tied in the front. Sheer, but not too sheer.

"Perfect," Janet agreed. "That color blue will look good against your skin."

"Soft and silky, so he can touch, and then he can untie it. So he can savor the experience," the blonde piped in. "But a little bit daring, so he thinks you're playing at being a bad girl."

Samantha soon found herself paying for the outfit, and while she was wondering how something made of such a small amount of fabric could cost so much, Janet then plopped down on the counter some small camo colored items.

"This is for tomorrow," she explained. "It's a bra and boy shorts. When he takes you to the firing range, you wear these."

"Camo?" Samantha squeaked.

"CAMO. It's a military thing, trust me," Janet explained.

* * *

When the shopping expedition was done, Samantha returned to her apartment, dragging for too many shopping bags after her. She invited Janet to come in for drinks, and Janet immediately made herself at home by digging into one of the packages and pulling out a few items. Janet then put them on the kitchen table, and began pointing out what was so special about them. 

"See… the camo bra has these little bullets as accents, so does the matching boy shorts. You wear them tomorrow, ok? That way when he shows you his gun, you ask him if he needs your bullets," Janet teased.

There **_were_** little silver bullets attached to the bra and shorts and Samantha knew that she was blushing again. How she wished her cheeks wouldn't flame so easily.

"You've got to stop blushing, Samantha. What's going to happen when George decides to _drop trow_ to show you the legendary Hammond howitzer? Are you going to have a case of the 'vapors'?" Janet fanned herself energetically, while giving a credible impersonation of a fainting Southern Belle.

"I don't even know if will go that far," Samantha admitted. "I mean, he's seeing someone now."

Janet recovered rapidly from her faint and her eyes narrowed, "He told you **_that_**?"

"Yes, apparently she's a real bitch," Samantha admitted, not seeing Janet's eyes narrow further. "Nobody likes him at the SGC, Janet, yet he's been an absolute gentleman with me. How could this lady he's seeing be so cruel? He says he's nothing more than a charity case for her, because she treats him like he's a side show freak, but he's still so grateful for that because she actually pencils him in for a few minutes a week. I mean, how can people be so cruel?"

"People, when they feel insecure about themselves, like to pick on those they think are weak. Hammond had a breakdown because what kept him alive in Iraq was the idea that his family would be there waiting for him, when he was released, and when he was released, he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that he was still alive and his family wasn't. The boys at the SGC like to think that if it had happened to them, they wouldn't have snapped," Janet explained. "I don't think Ferretti and Kawalsky would have lasted six weeks in that camp, let alone six months."

"I think he wouldn't have minded staying tonight… but I told him that I couldn't do it," Samantha admitted softly. "You know what he said? He said it had been a while since he dealt with a lady, and he'd be willing to wait for me to be ready."

"Really?" Janet questioned. "He said **_that_**?"

"Yes," Samantha confessed.

"You're lucky then," Janet informed her. "Now, I have to work tomorrow, so I need to go."

Samantha again thanked Janet for her help shopping, and she walked Janet to her car. She waved at Janet when the doctor pulled out of her driveway, and Janet gestured her goodbye. For a moment, Samantha had thought she had offended Janet because Janet had seemed a little icy when she was talking about George, but it was probably just her imagination.

* * *

Janet Fraiser punched her gas pedal hard as she was so furious. 

"So, Hammond, you think I'm a bitch? You don't think I'm a lady?" She let loose a string of obscenities, not wanting to admit that Hammond's brusque comments to Samantha about the slut he was sleeping with had scored and burned her soul. She doubted that Samantha in her throes of puppy love had noticed that she had bruised Janet's feelings.

"Well, honey, you go fall head over heels with your little virginal princess. You fall for her bad, Hammond, because you're looking for someone to put on a pedestal, just like your goddamn perfect St. Angie, and you get her into your bed. But don't you enjoy your romance for too long, Hammond, as I'll have a little talk with Princess Samantha after you bang her. I wonder what she'll say when she finds out you and Daddy go way, way back and how you fucked her just to get even with her old man."

"By the time I'm done with you, Hammond, you'll be back in your little padded cell."

Janet wiped a tear from her eye and she cursed herself for crying.

"I never treated you like a charity case."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

**_Rating:_**MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach and have run screaming for the hills. I think that's a compliment?

We left Geek!Girl having spent a fortune on new clothes to entice her Colonel, while the Colonel is returning to his lonely home. Meanwhile, Janet is feeling like a woman scorned.

* * *

First thing George Hammond did upon entering his home, his own private sanctuary, was to try and see it through the eyes of a stranger. How would Samantha see his house?

A shrine, a mausoleum.

First of all, it was pristine, almost painstakingly so, as he always took his boots off in the entrance way.

And there were the photos. The photos! Oh God, the photos!

There was a large picture of Angie in a silver frame, smiling, right next to the table where he put his keys, as it was the last thing he looked at before he went to work, and the first thing to greet him when he came home. That picture was picked up, but carefully so not to smudge the glass and then he went upstairs.

He didn't have a lot of furniture, and the rooms were rather empty. A few pieces of artwork were on the wall, including one that his daughter had drawn when she was in high school. That was most assuredly staying up.

On a coffee table next to the couch, two pictures of his family on vacation, a half dozen or so from his daughters' wedding, three from his own, four pictures of him holding his grandchildren, beaming like an idiot, thinking how life was beautiful, and an absolutely glorious black and white picture of Angie, her long black hair undone, barely covering the essentials, looking sexy as hell, wicked as all get out and curvy voluptuous as she had been carrying their first baby under her heart. She had convinced him to take that photo of her with one of those new fangled 35 mm cameras, and then he had to find someone he trusted on the base to process it as it was too racy to take to the local drug store. He had brought a smaller version of that particular pose with him to 'Nam and it had kept him warm on many a cold, lonely night.

Biting his lip, he tried to weed out the pictures. Angie's sexy photo **_had_** to go, the vacations pics could go, the pics of him and his daughters at their wedding… well, they were staying up, though he sternly limited himself to two photos for each girl. His wedding photos definitely needed to be put away, but damn it, shouldn't he keep one up?

Baby photos of the grand kids? They **_had_** to stay up.

But what about the one where Angie was pinning his Lt. Colonel rank insignia on him? She was as bald as he was in that picture, because she had just completed her last round of chemo and was in remission. They were grinning like fools at each other, he, delighted that the woman he loved was in remission, Angie, thrilled, that her husband had been promoted to a lite colonel.

Should that stay up?

It had to stay up, but maybe… not there…not next to the couch… maybe… damn it! Not in his bedroom!

So he went through his house, and soon the bed in the "Shrine" was covered with photos. Neatly arranged, as it would be too disrespectful to treat them otherwise, and he realized that his hands were shaking. The pics were really nothing more than colored pigment on paper, he couldn't touch the people in them, couldn't rock his granddaughters to sleep or kiss his wife on her lips but those cherished photos symbolized so much more because it was all that he had physically left of them.

God damn, when he had first listened to that song, _Bookends_, by Simon and Garfunkel, he had thought Simon's voice was the saddest thing he had ever heard. Little did he realize that in a few short years, he'd be living the lyrics.

_Time it was, and what a time it was, it was  
A time of innocence, a time of confidences  
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph   
Preserve your memories; They're all that's left you_

"I don't want to you to think that I put you in here, as though I'm ashamed of you."

His voice rumbled loudly in the stillness of his empty home, so much like his empty life, full of remembrances of his dead.

"I just don't want to scare her away. I hope you all understand. I'm so lonely. I'm so goddamn lonely, and I think of all of you every day, every hour, every goddamn minute… but I'm tired of being isolated. The boys at the base treat me like I'm a headcase, a side show freak, and she's been **_polite_** to me. She seems really decent and a really sweet girl. I was thinking about being down right wolverine mean to her because of who her daddy is, but I can't."

"Maybe… she might develop a fondness for my old carcass, and she'll have lunch with me in the lunchroom. I'm so weary of being treated like I have the plague."

He wiped the tears from his eyes. He never allowed himself to cry, at the most, he allowed himself a few tears, because George Hammond knew that once the walls came down, he would never be able to stop crying.

"If me dying in Iraq would have kept you all alive, I would have willingly done it. You were the ones that kept me alive in that damn prison. I never though you'd all be gone when I got out," his voice broke and he wipe away more tears.

"Angie, I'm not planning on marrying the girl, nothing like that, but I miss talking to someone who can actually answer me. Please, please, please, girl, understand. I'm not betraying what we had. What we had Angie, goddamn it, was rarer then hen's teeth, but I ain't got nothing now. Just a fistful of medals and a grief so profound, that it dogs my step every damn day."

"Angie, Angie, darling. She ain't nothing like you. You'd never put up with Jonas and his shit. Plus your Papa wasn't anything like Jacob. He was damn proud of you, that he had such a strong-willed girl."

George then sat on the floor of the shrine, his back against the wall. He was holding onto a well-worn teddy bear, and he then pulled a tattered baby blanket over him. He was shaking something fierce, and he tried to stop, trying to remember the assorted coping mechanisms he had been given over the years. When he had first agreed to Janet's illicit proposal, he had gotten this anxious and disturbed. But his uneasiness over the possibility of replacing his soulmate with Janet had quickly passed when he realized that their relationship would only be the most superficial of liaisons.

A pity fuck.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

**_Wham Bam, Thank you, Ma'am. _**

**_Sorry about keeping the boots on. Hope they didn't make a mess on your comforter._**

But this had the potential to go further, and he knew that if actually allowed her behind his emotional barricades, Samantha Carter could hurt him far easier than Janet Fraiser could ever dream of doing.

"Living is easy with your eyes closed," he whispered.

* * *

Samantha was playing with her hair, wondering if she could actually do **_something_** with it, and she was just about to decide it was a hopeless cause and throw her curling iron as a sign of defeat, when her phone rang. She ran to the phone, neatly sidestepping two unopened boxes, and vowed that one day soon, she'd get unpacked.

Maybe it was George!

The caller ID said it was her parent's number, so she quickly hoped that it was her mom, rather than her father. To her delight, it **_was_** her mom, so she curled up on the couch. Maybe if she was really lucky, her mom would be in a good mood, and she could get some advice from her about life, men, **_sex_**….

"How's your new job, honey?"

"It's wonderful, Mom!" Samantha admitted, not bothering to keep the excitement from her voice. "It's a challenge and everyone's been really nice so far. And… please don't tell Dad… there's someone in which I'm interested. Kinda. Sorta."

"Why shouldn't I tell your father?" Her mom asked in concern. Her tone turned motherly and disapproving over Sam's lack of faith in her father. "He only wants you to be happy and not to make the same mistakes we did."

"Well, the guy is a little bit older than me, and he's in the military… I just don't want Dad getting snoopy," Samantha pleaded. "You know how he got with Jonas."

"Ah… yes…," her mother sighed as she remembered **_that_** mess all too well. "I won't mention it then, but if it gets **_serious_**, you need to tell your father. Now, what rank is he?"

"He's a Colonel," Samantha admitted. "A full bird Colonel."

Being a military wife for so long, her mother did a quick mental sum of the various ranks and that realized that the youngest Sam's new friend could be, was at least ten years her daughter's senior.

"He's **_more_** than a little older than you, unless he advanced up the ranks quickly. Was he **_married_**?"

Her mother, a stern Catholic, frowned on divorce.

"He's widowed," Sam explained. "He does have kids, but they died in a car accident."

Samantha phrased it that way, because she couldn't imagine saying that Hammond didn't have kids. Not after remembering how he had stuttered and stumbled over his words when he talked about them.

Her mother was appropriately sympathetic, "How horrible!"

Then her mother asked her questions about her new friend, and the two of them had a real mother-daughter conversation, the type of conversation Samantha had often wanted with her mother, and that had been in all too short supply when she had been growing up. Well, it wasn't her mother's fault. After her mom's horrible car accident when Samantha was twelve and all the time her mom had spent in rehabilitation hadn't been conducive to mother-daughter bonding.

In fact, it had been her father that had to explain the facts of life to her. Her first period had arrived early; she had been thoroughly not expecting it and her father had to calm her down and explain to her that it was normal and part and parcel of being a woman.

That talk had consisted of a rather embarrassed Samantha trying to hide under the table while her dad bluntly explained everything, including how to put a rubber on a banana. She had been completely mortified, especially when he made her practice with a banana. He had bought a bunch of bananas, and a box of condoms, and she had practiced for what seemed an eternity until neither the rubber nor the banana broke and the banana was jauntily sporting a raincoat.

"Don't get pregnant and ruin your life, Samantha," he warned her. "Your mother and I have high hopes for you. You'll get somewhere…make something of yourself. Explore your options, not like your mother and me."

Oh God! She hadn't practiced that since, and George had promised that they'd be using them! And while she was completely inexperienced, she had a damn good idea that it would be different trying to put them on George. That was another thought! Should she go out and buy them? What size? She read Cosmo, she knew that it was always a good thing to be prepared at all times for the possibility of having sex, but she still hadn't actually bought any condoms to put in her bag. After all, didn't they have an expiration date?

"How long have you been seeing him?" Samantha's mom prompted Samantha when her mind wandered and she had been quiet for far too long.

"Today was the first date," Samantha shyly admitted, hoping her mom wouldn't be too caustic.

"Oh! Samantha…. _**One**_ Date! You seem… a little too enthralled by this Colonel, Samantha," her mom commented. "One date and you've got **_such_** a crush on him. Be careful, dear."

"He's been really nice, Mom," Samantha explained. "He's a gentleman, Mom. He knows that I'm still a virgin…"

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, it proves that you have good morals," her mom protested. "Why does he know that on your first date? Did he get **_fresh_**?"

"I told him, Mom. George says that he won't push the issue with me," Samantha explained. "You know how Jonas was."

"A bit like your father in that matter," her mother said softly.

Sam knew that her mom didn't mean to say that so she could hear it, so she ignored it.

"I told him right away so he'd know how I stood on that issue. He said that while he'd love to be intimate, he wants to wait until I'm ready," Samantha explained. "George is a **_real_** gentleman, Mom. He's so different from the others."

"Just be careful, Samantha. Please, I want you to find someone to be happy with, but be **_careful_**," her mom pleaded. "You know how those men in uniform can be."

They chatted for a little bit longer, Sam told her mom to give her father her love, and then they said their goodbyes.

* * *

The next morning, George promptly arrived at her front door, and the way his icy blues eyes lingered over her was almost like a physical caress, so he seemed to heartily approve of her new outfit, with a shirt that flashed a little bit of her cleavage, a cute jean jacket and a nice pair of jeans that showed off her trim figure. Samantha found herself unexpectedly awkward with him, as she spent far too much of her time after she had spoken to her mom on the internet researching about a certain subject that she had been too embarrassed to mention to her mom. Her investigation had been informative and rather frighteningly educational, but still a bit of a shock. Her dad had never informed her that some women were able to put condoms on their lovers with just their **_tongue_**.

Samantha glanced at the older man next to her, with his stone face and ramrod straight posture, and tried to image geeky little her doing **_that_** to him with her **_tongue_** without him laughing. She immediately flushed and looked away. Hammond put his hand on her face and made her look at him.

"I'd give you a penny for your thoughts, but I think I might end up blushing as I'm just a shy boy from Texas," he drawled.

Samantha was pretty damn sure that no shy little boy from Texas had even smirked like THAT though.

"Do I get a good morning kiss at least?" George asked sadly, complete with a fake alligator tear.

"Yes," she agreed quickly, perhaps a little _**too **_quickly, as he quirked a half smile.

Again, he insisted on an unhurried kiss that deepened slowly as he guided her through it, and his deliberate, leisurely kiss made her desire to bang him on the front lawn.

In front of the neighbors!

She didn't care if the entire block watch saw them! Because that would mean people would know that Samantha Carter wasn't a frigid virgin!

When they finally broke apart, she realized that George was supporting her and that she was leaning against him.

"Someon's knees got a little week," George teased her as he kissed the top of her head.

"Lack of oxygen," she immediately retorted as truthfully, she was feeling a wee bit dizzy. The world hadn't moved when they kissed, but she had definitely gotten off balance.

"Should I take you to see Fraiser?" His voice was dripping in concern, but Sam could tell her was amused by her quip.

"I need more mouth to mouth, as I'm still feeling dizzy," she insisted. Sam pulled him closer towards her, and George shook his head. He put his finger over her mouth and rubbed the outline of her lips.

"You're never going to get to the range at this rate," he reminded her.

"So, you'll let me play with your gun today?" Samantha asked a trifle bit giddily.

Instead of George's expected dry and slightly risqué response, George bit his lower lid and then shook his head.

"Samantha," George put his hands on her shoulders, and squeezed them. "I know yesterday I flirted with you…"

She felt her blood run cold, and her unease must have been easily apparent to George, as he carefully rubbed his hand against her face.

"No, let me finish, dear. Yesterday, you held a broken gun that will never fire a round. Today, you need to focus on your weapon completely and utterly. Carelessness with firearms is inexcusable, Samantha. People can get hurt or even killed by people being reckless with firearms. In my stay at Camp MentalSnap…"

He easily overrode her protests, "I can call it that, because it's what is, what it was and what it will always be. During my stay at Camp MentalSnap, there was an Air Force officer who didn't lock his gun up one night. He always locked it up but one night, he was tired, got distracted and the gun wasn't put his gun safe. His son, Charlie, found the gun and he ended up blowing his head off. When Jack found his son's body, he realized that Charlie was dead because he didn't put his gun in the safe, and he snapped. Jack tried to kill himself with that same handgun."

George took a deep breath before continuing shakily, "I've lost my entire family, Samantha. If you get injured because you failed to comprehend how truly dangerous a firearm is, I won't be able to handle it. I **_hate_** teaching the rooks for that reason. Because one of these days, they'll get hurt, crippled or killed, and it might be because I didn't teach them something that they needed to know, or one day in class, they decide to daydream about the Archimedes screw and I didn't feel like bringing their minds back to class. I don't think I'll be able to handle the guilt, Samantha. Please take this seriously today."

"I will," Samantha promised. "I promise, I just like… **_flirting_**… with you."

Oh God, she knew that she was fuchsia. Her cheeks were radiating heat like she had third degree sunburn!

"Really?" George questioned her. "You like flirting with this old dog?"

She chewed her lip and shook her head in affirmation.

"Samantha… you're always so bashful. I know Jonas hurt you… maybe not physically, but emotionally and mentally he injured you, so you're apprehensive about revealing too much of the real Samantha to me. Trust this battered old warhorse when I promise you that I won't ridicule you. Talk, Samantha. Talk to me, I live in a world of silence…" George paused and then ran his finger down her cheek.

"Tell me what you like, Samantha. It's part of dating, you know, talking, to get to know someone," he reminded her. "So feel free to talk about anything."

"What should I talk about?" Samantha questioned.

"You," George insisted. "Tell me about what you like, what you don't like…"

"I like it when you kiss me," she blurted, her face turning rosy.

And to her delight, he kissed her again.

* * *

They reviewed gun safety, the required stance, hand grasp, trigger pull and assorted other gun related issues until the two of them got to the range. Much to Samantha's disappointment, he made damn sure to keep his hands to himself during the drive there and their conversation completely non-risqué. George checked them into the range, paid the fees and reminded her of what she needed to know.

"What's Rule # 1?" He quizzed expectantly.

"All guns are loaded, always," Samantha rattled off easily. "Even if I believe that that it's not loaded, it is. Rule # 2 is 'Don't point at anything you don't want to fire at.' My finger will remain off the trigger until my site is on the target and the final rule is always to be aware of my target and what is beyond it."

"We'll be doing dry fire for a bit, for you to practice everything. When I'm happy, we'll move up to live ammo," he explained.

He paused and then held out a small box to her.

Samantha Carter gave him a quizzical look and he explained, "Yesterday, I noticed the gun you were using really was a little too large for your hands. Put your hand against mine."

He held up one of his hand and placed it against hers. His hand was slightly larger than hers.

"Your hands are a little smaller, so I thought this gun might work better for you. Try it, if you like it, and it fits, you can have it. You'll just have to get all the permits first," George explained. "It's a Berretta. Hasn't been used in a while, but I cleaned it up and checked it out last night. If I remember rightly, the recoil is a little less than the one with which I normally practice. Take it."

He pushed the small, locked metal box into her hands.

"I'm serious, if it's a good match, you can have it," he insisted. "I don't use that particular gun and I never have. It's just sitting in my gun safe, and it could use a good home."

Damn him for a fool, but Samantha was misty eyed over his offer to gift her the gun.

"Was this Angie's?" she questioned carefully, as though she was afraid to scratch a barely healed scar. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I gave it to her before my first overseas deployment," Hammond explained slowly.

Last night when he had taken the gun out of the safe, wanting to clean it and check it out, he had just hoped she would take it, without having to explain who had originally owned the gun. "She was pregnant with our first child because she wanted a part of me just in case I didn't come home, so I got her the best damn gun I could afford since I wouldn't be home to protect her and the baby."

"I can't take it, George," Samantha protested.

"Take it," he insisted. "It's been sitting in the gun safe since Angie and the girls died. Nobody else had the combination to the gun safe, so I know that Angie was the only one that used it. Angie's third cousin was using the safe as a plant holder and vowing one day to find a locksmith to get it open. I can't use the gun, it doesn't fit my hand. I also won't use it, because I **_gave_** it to her as **_gift_**. I certainly won't sell the gun, so try it out. If it fits your hand, and you like the feel of it, it's yours."

"George…"

"She's not gonna mind, Samantha. I think she'd like her gun to go another woman, rather that sitting in my gun safe and never being used. Try it, ok? I also spoke to the staff here, and you're going to try a couple different guns, different makers, different models and different calibers. You're going to wrap your hands around a Glock, a Kimber….."

She was staring at him, with her blue eyes all misty. Damn it, he was just offering her a gun, not an engagement ring!

"Did you teach Angie how to shoot?" Samantha asked.

"Hell, no! Angie's mother had taught her how to shoot when Angie was twelve. Teaching your wife to shoot is a good way to end up in divorce court," George then barked a laugh. "Fact is I don't know if I should be teaching you now, but for now, we'll have to deal with it. Understand, I will come down very hard on you."

Sam blushed slightly, and he struggled not to laugh.

"Because I don't want you learning any bad habits, so I will yell and curse you out if I think you're doing something stupid. Don't get angry at me, ok? I just want to make sure that you live another day."

"I know that, George," she insisted.

* * *

**_Grip, Stance, Sight Alignment, Trigger Control. Grip, Stance, Sight Alignment, Trigger Control. Grip, Stance, Sight Alignment, Trigger Control. Grip, Stance, Sight Alignment, Trigger Control._**

All of George's instructions went through her head like a whirlwind and she whispered the instructions to herself as she carefully aimed the Beretta at the target. It was odd; how Hammond's late wife's gun had fitted her hand as though it was made just for her. The Glock was a bit too uncomfortable, the Kimber too much of a stretch but the Beretta…

She gripped the gun, checked her stance, aligned her sight and just before she pulled the trigger, she thought of the last time she had fired a gun. Her father had been absolutely disgusted with her technique and Samantha felt her muscles begin to nervously, instinctively quiver. She pulled the trigger, jerkily and not in the smooth way Hammond had instructed. The Beretta's recoil was not as forceful as her Dad's .357 magnum but it still rocked her slightly.

Looking at the target, she saw that her aim had gone low and to the left. For all her troubles, she had missed the target and her injured wrist was paining her again.

Unconsciously, Samantha tightened up and waited for Hammond to go ballistic as her father would have done. Instead, he tapped her on the shoulder, shook his head and then motioned for her to empty the gun. She did so quickly, and when she handed him his wife's gun and the magazine clip, he just took the ammo and motioned for her to leave the range.

When they were in the hallway outside the range, he removed his protective ear muffs and shook his head. Carefully she removed hers, and she waited for the screaming to commence.

"That was a goddamn perfect example of everything going straight to hell, Samantha. You were positioned right, your stance was good, your grip was excellent, then you flinched while you fired the gun. What happened? Why'd you decide to flinch? What were you thinking when you pulled the trigger?" His voice echoed slightly in the empty hallway. "Did you re-injure your wrist?"

Carefully he took her wrist in his large hand, and he began palpating it carefully. She gasped slightly when she felt the slightest twinge of pain and he shook his head.

"You did, didn't you, so no more firing range for you today," George insisted. "But seriously, why did you flinch? Was it because your wrist hurt? I warned you about overdoing it, and possibly re-injuring it."

"No, it was after the gun recoiled, I tightened up and my wrist got jarred. It's **_nothing_** serious," Samantha insisted. "Let's go back on the range so I can try again."

George wasn't easily detoured from finding out why she had decided to demonstrate the picture perfect example of FLINCHING and so he asked her again, what had happened.

"I thought of my father actually," Samantha explained shortly, not wanting to rehash what had happened.

"Were you aiming for him?" George quipped after a long pause.

She refused to answer **_THAT_** question, and she sighed. To her surprise, George didn't push the issue, instead he gave her time to compose herself.

"Do you know my father?" Samantha finally asked, afraid that George would answer in the affirmative. "Major General Jacob Carter?"

George paused to think, as though going through a mental rolodex of all the Air Force personnel he had dealt with through his long career. Then he shook his head.

"No, can't say that I know him," he answered in a strangely bleak tone. "Can't say that I do."

She grimaced and George shook his head again. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Samantha, don't let yourself be limited by your previous experiences. Your father and Jonas seemed to delight in squashing you. Seize the day, Samantha. Decide what you want to do, and go for it," George explained. "Now what do you want, Samantha?"

"I want to learn how to shoot a gun," Samantha stated firmly. "I want to be able to defend myself, and I want to prove that I can do this!"

"Are you trying to prove it to yourself? Or to your old man? Who probably is close to my age, so I shouldn't call him that," Hammond dryly remarked.

Her shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor. "Both, actually," she admitted. Then she looked up at him, and shamefully admitted, "And you."

"Me?" George protested, his voice sounding sincerely surprised. "Why do you think you have to prove yourself to me?"

_**Because you're the first guy whose treated me decently. **_

_**Because you admit that you want to have sex with me but you're willing to wait. **_

**_Because you're so much like my father in some ways that maybe by getting your approval, I could get his. _**

_**Because you're so unlike my father in other ways.**_

**_Because when you kiss me, you make me feel special, like I'm not a geek girl who got stood up at her high school prom. _**

_**Because you offered me the gun you gave your wife, and I want to prove to you that I'm worthy of it!**_

**_Because I've spent my entire life trying to validate myself as a person to anyone and everyone, and you're the first man whose hasn't belittled or denigrated me. _**

"I keep telling you, you don't have to prove yourself to me," George reminded. He put his hand on her face, and then deliberately, he ran his fingers down her neck. The sensation was ticklish and pleasant and it gave her butterflies in her tummy.

Hammond stared at something for a moment, and then he looked into her eyes. George appeared perplexed, yet he was wearing a bad boy smirk.

"Well, actually, it appears you do have to verify something for me, after all, Samantha Carter," George informed her in a very serious tone.

"What?" Samantha asked, trying not to voice her concern about his stern demeanor. What had she done now?

"Are you wearing matching camo?" George questioned softly, as his finger tugged at her bra strap that was peeping out from her shirt. "I've been seeing little flashes of camo straps all day, and I really am fixated on verifying that you're completely regulation."

She got really flustered then, and she couldn't help but cringe.

"I'm sorry, dear. I thought if I made a naughty quip, you might relax a little," George's voice radiated sincerity. "Maybe I should get one of the instructors here to take over your training. I'm obviously getting you flustered. Completely my fault after yesterday."

"No," Samantha protested. "I trust you, please don't get someone else."

"Siler's probably the best one," he decided. "He's got the Small Arms Expert Marksmanship Ribbon and he's steady and even-tempered. Just if he starts talking to you about the latest pool he's running, ignore him else you'll lose that new fancy shirt you're wearing. I'll talk to him tomorrow, but for now, I think you've enough range time. I really don't want you ruining your wrist."

Samantha attempted to protest that she was fine, but he put his index finger over her mouth.

"I don't want you getting injured because of my negligence, I would be exceedingly distressed if that happened," he reminded her. "It's time for you to put the gun away, Samantha. I won't let you take target practice until Janet Fraiser clears that wrist. That's an **_order_**."

* * *

On the way back to Colorado Springs, George made sure to stop as soon as possible and buy ice for Samantha's tender wrist. Actually he went into a small supermarket and he bought a bag of frozen peas and a wash cloth. From personal experience of far too many injuries to count, frozen peas worked just as well if not better than an ice pack, because it would be flexible and malleable around her injured wrist.

Poor Samantha, she was sitting in the passenger seat, visibly dejected and no doubt mentally cursing herself for flinching when she fired the gun. It was completely his fault, as he was the one instructing her and he should have realized that Jake's lack of finesse would have emotionally traumatized his daughter. Damn it, he had gotten too cocky! Foolishly he had thought she had managed to shake off Jake's abuse as Samantha had been doing so damn well! She knew how to handle the gun, had a good grip on her pistol, had followed the gun safety rules to the letter and damn it, she had seemed comfortable using Angie's gun yet she had flinched when she had fired it.

Her self-confidence was in the cellar, as she had been almost monosyllabic from when they left the range. Samantha had insisted that she was fine, that she could continue practicing but his deliberate refusal to even consider the matter as open to discussion had left Samantha blaming herself.

He got back into the truck and handed her the peas and the wash cloth.

"Put the cloth on your wrist and then put the peas on top," George instructed. "So hopefully when we get back to Colorado Springs, it'll be around one. What do you want to do for the remainder of the day?"

Samantha applied the peas to her wrist and then settled back into the passenger's seat. She was staring out the window when she finally decided to answer him.

"Take me home, please," Samantha bleakly requested. "Thank you for wasting your time with me today."

"Time is never wasted when it's with you, Samantha, let me assure you of that. Now I made reservations for dinner for five. It's a Thai place," he explained, trying not to voice his disappointment. "I was hoping maybe you'd want to come over to my place."

Samantha turned to look at him, with those sky blue eyes that were such depthless pools, so full of self-contempt. It was obvious that she believed that she had screwed up royally today and wanted to lick her wounds in private.

"I rented a movie, "StarMan", it's got one of the Bridges boys in it, Beau or Jeff, and it's sci-fi. I've got a big couch, and we could cuddle. Maybe I could sneak a few kisses, get a little fresh, only a little, not too much…" He put a little wheedle into his voice, hoping to coax her into not retreating into the safety of her apartment.

"Only a _**little **_fresh?" Samantha questioned softly.

There was a glint of amusement in her eyes, chasing away her self-doubt and distress, and her mouth was almost crinkled into a slight smile.

"You know, maybe I could nibble on your ear," George suggested cautiously. "Maybe I could try to get to second base…Naturally; since you're a lady, you'd be horrified by my boldness and threaten to slap my hands."

Samantha bit her lip and then looked up at him.

"If I let you go to second base, and I didn't stop you, would you try for third?" Samantha whispered.

"Yes," George spoke in an intense, soft voice. "And after I kissed you **_everywhere_**, and thoroughly worshipped every single inch of you…. I'd want to run home. But you know that I won't try for home without certain signals from the third base coach."

"I'm not into base ball," she admitted. "I'm not sure what signals for which you'd be looking."

"There's three signals total. There's the most important one, **_Stop/Stay, _**which means I carefully touch third base. **_Slide_**, which means, I slide into third base, and that's a great of fun yet a little messy for both of us."

"And what's the third?" Samantha questioned.

"Ah… that's the best one of all. The crowd is yelling, the coach is telling me to go home, and I do my best to get home. But you know, sometimes when I try for a grand slam, I'll get tagged out before I get home. You know what happens then?"

"You must get angry about getting tagged," she whispered.

"No… I don't, because I got to third base. Maybe the third base coach thought I was better than I actually am; there are a thousand different possibilities why I got tagged out before I reached home. And while I'd like to get a grand slam, because hopefully there will be a hell of a lot of hoot and hollering and high fiving when I get a grand slam, getting a triple is nothing to get angry about. Especially for an old man like me."

"And sometimes, I don't even get on first. I strike out, do a pop up fly or do a bunt, so I end up taking one for the team. But I don't get angry. I don't get mad. Do you know why?"

"No," Samantha admitted. "I don't know why you wouldn't get mad. Don't you want to score? Isn't that what every man wants?"

"Well, yeah, I do. But some hotshots forget that there's a team effort involved. What's best for the team is what's important. I'm secondary to the team's greater good. It's enough to be in the game. I keep telling you, this will happen at your speed."

"George…" Her voice was quite shy and hesitant and then she paused. Samantha bit her lip, and she ran her fingers through her hair. Then she gifted him with a very shy smile.

The only time he had seen that specific smile before was when Angie had decided that he was going to do the honors. And then, as now, he had to put to voice what his partner was too afraid to ask.

"Darling, do you want me to try for a home run today?"

Samantha Carter blushed and nodded her head.

"Let's get you home, then," George decided. "I think I know a shortcut."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

**_Rating:_**MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach and have run screaming for the hills. I think that's a compliment?

We left Geek!Girl learning how to play baseball. Or something like that.

* * *

In spite of Samantha's resolute vow to be gutsy and thrilled about this new experience that she'd be sharing with George, rather than gawkily fearful, she was quaking in her boots and a quivering in her camo panties, and not in a good way, either! 

George knew how nervous she truly was. He opened the door to his condo, and he ushered her in. Then he motioned for her to sit on a wooden bench that was near the front door. She sat down quickly, hoping that her nerves would settle. George sat down next to her, and to her delight, he ran his fingers through her blond hair. He played with her hair for a bit, running it through his fingers, even twirling a strand of it around one finger. Samantha closed her eyes, and just enjoyed the tingling sensations.

Maybe… just maybe… George wouldn't be turned off by her nervousness.

Naturally, Geek!Girl Carter's luck held true to form. George ceased playing with her hair, and he put his hand on hers and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze.

"We don't have to do this," he reminded her in that soft, affectionate, low voice that Samantha knew that he only used with her. With the others, his voice was brusque and unemotional, dripping with his Texas accent, whereas when he spoke to her, each syllable was an almost physical caress. "We can wait until you're ready."

"I want to," Samantha protested, wishing that her voice didn't sound so unsteady.

Good God, she bet the supremely self-confident Janet Fraiser had never acted like this on her first time. No, by God, Janet would have pounced by now, gotten ridden of that pesky tag of virgin and would probably be on round 3 by now!

"We can wait," he protested. "There's **_no_** hurry, Samantha. I don't want you to tell me one day that you regretted this."

"Please," she whispered. "I trust you. I'm thirty years old, and you're the first…"

Samantha paused and gave him a shy smile. George returned her smile, and Samantha could sense that George had already decided that she wasn't truly ready for the next step as his smile was a mixture of desire, compassion and bittersweet regret.

"You're nervous, Samantha," George stated again. "There's no hurry. We'll do this another day."

"I trust you," she explained, stopping before her voice grew shaky. "I really want my first time to be with you. **_Please_**."

"Samantha, why do you have your heart set on this broken down old war horse?" George asked. "Why not someone younger?"

"Because you're not like the other guys," Samantha explained softly.

"Samantha…" George protested. He was shaking his head, and she knew that she had to expand on her comment.

"I mean that in a good way," she explained. "I feel **_safe_** with you."

"You deserve love, Samantha, you shouldn't settle for safety," he insisted.

"When I was younger, I had hoped for love. You know, a handsome guy would find something in me that was worthwhile…"

"You **_are_** worthwhile, Samantha…" interrupted George.

"But the guys that were interested in me weren't very nice. They wanted me for what I could do for them, help them pass their classes. Jonas thought it would be helpful for his career if he was married to a General's daughter…" Samantha smiled tightly after she admitted that. "And the guys I liked weren't interested in a geek girl with glasses."

"Your father liked Jonas, right? Is that the reason why you put up with him?" George questioned.

She had never really talked about her abusive relationship with Jonas to anyone, and so Samantha slowly began trying to explain the twisted, tangled, hellish relationship she and Jonas had and why she had stayed with him long enough to get engaged.

"Yeah, my dad liked him. Jonas could be very charming when he wanted, and Dad thought Jonas was a real man's man and good son-in-law material because my brother blamed him for my mom's car accident," Samantha explained. "My mom had been drinking before she had her accident. My father told her to get a cab as he was in a meeting, and instead, some guy offered her a ride home. My mom didn't realize that her new buddy was loaded."

She stopped, uncertain if she should continue her story, especially with Hammond's painful familiarity of the consequences of reckless, drunk drivers. To her genuine astonishment, George reached over and gave her a hug. He held her tightly and she clung to him.

It had been fifteen years and more since that fateful day her mom had gotten into the accident, but Samantha still remembered everything about that painful moment when she had been informed that her mom had been in an accident. Her father had been in TEARS, real honest-to-god TEARS and Mark had gotten so angry with their father, screaming like a banshee, and blaming him for the accident that had nearly killed their mother.

She had wanted nothing more at that horrible moment then to have Mark stop screaming his accusations, to have her father hug her and assure her that everything would work out fine, but Jake had been far too busy to have much time for her. He had to call her grandparents, figure out who was going to watch her and Mark, and a thousand other things that were far more important to him than his worried daughter.

"When you're ready, continue…" George rumbled, as she clung to him tightly. "And not a moment before."

Regretfully, Samantha shrugged off his embrace, wanting to appear stronger than she was.

"She was in a wheelchair, but she's managed to walk again," Samantha continued slowly. "My mom started drinking because my father was cheating. Since the accident, my father has been devoted to her, but…"

"I don't expect love, George. I just want my first and probably only time to be with someone who won't hurt me just because they can," she whispered. "I know you won't deliberately hurt me, because you've had so much pain in your life. I can't see you willingly inflicting pain on someone else."

Left unsaid was that Samantha, geek girl, possessed a **_painful_** teenage crush on him. Perhaps it would be better for both of them, if she just pretended that she wasn't head over heels for the older man. George wanted to bed her, so she wasn't foolish enough to think that he cared for her, but he had promised to go slow.

George just stared at her for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"Please," Samantha whispered. "Please make love to me."

"Samantha…" he protested, but she could sense that his firm resolve was weakening.

"Please…. I trust you."

Oh God, she was getting teary-eyed, and George carefully wiped away a tear that had escaped from her eye and was running down her cheek.

"Don't put me on a pedestal that I don't deserve," he warned her. "I have feet of clay, a heart of stone and an extremely hard head covered by very little hair."

That quip broke the tension, as Samantha found herself nervously giggling in spite of the 100 million Monarch butterflies in her stomach. Yes, she laughed even as she put her hand on his very tight buzz cut. George had the smallest fringe of auburn hair that he faithfully buzzed every week. She tentatively rubbed her hand against his slight stubble, enjoying the rough feel against her hand and Samantha was quite delighted when George closed his eyes.

"Don't stop," George pleaded. Then his voice turned into a low, dangerous growl, "That feels so good."

"Really?" Samantha questioned as she began to be more assertive in rubbing his stubble.

George reminded Samantha of a cat being scratched as he moved into her touch.

"Yes, it's one of my quirks. Fuzz Therapy. Between that and rubbing my neck and my shoulders, all I will be able to think about is how I want to get you horizontal. Seriously, sometimes, I get these really bad tension headaches, and the only way I could ever get any relief was when…. she… would massage my shoulders and neck."

His voice had slowed before George had halting said "she," as though he had abruptly realized how inappropriate it was to mention his late wife to his girlfriend.

"George, you can mention Angie's name," Samantha protested. "She's part of who you are."

"It's not right to you," he disagreed fervently. "It's downright disrespectful in fact. There you are, wanting this old war horse to be your first, and like the idiot I am, I mention my late wife."

"No, it's all right," Samantha assured him. "I'd like to change into something; is that ok?"

"Is better than camo?" George teased. "Is something that's a little…naughty?"

Damn it, she knew was blushing and she nodded her head. George gave an appreciative wolf whistle and Sam swore that even her toes were turning red.

"Then come with me, and I'll show you where you can change," he commented. He held out his hand, and gave her an encouraging smile. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in it. I really want to know if you blush all over…"

"George!"

* * *

His place was **_huge_**! Samantha had only dreamed about renting a place like this when moved to Colorado and George apparently **_owned_** it. There were four bedrooms, assorted bathrooms and a huge kitchen. There also was a large TV in the rather Spartan living room, a stereo that would probably shake the floors if he turned it up too loud and…a large fish tank that caught her eye. It was full of bright salt water fish darting back and forth. 

"This is incredible," she exclaimed. "This entire place is beautiful."

George looked uncomfortable, and then he explained, "I got settlements from the kid, his parents and the bar that…."

He motioned with his hands, letting her know that he couldn't continue the sentence.

"So… the money's cold comfort indeed. It won't bring them back. I donated most of it, and I bought some things they would have liked, if they were alive. Kayla and…Tessa…," he paused to regain his composure, and she grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, glad that for once, she could reassure him, rather than the other way around, "Would have loved that damn tank. I had a forty gallon one…the girls used to like to watch the fish dart back and forth. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I sit on the couch and watch those damn fish for hours."

"I'm sorry that I'm such a downer," George said after a very long pause in the conversation. "You're the first person I've ever invited here…so I'm out of practice being a good host. Do you want anything?"

"You," Samantha blurted out hastily.

George blushed! He actually turned rosy, grinned a crooked smile and he rubbed the back of his neck as though he disbelieved her.

"Got one thing on your mind, girl," George grimaced and then barked a loud laugh. "Let me show you where you can get changed."

Nervously, she changed into the blue lingerie, and Samantha couldn't help but stare at herself in the bathroom mirror. Besides the obvious, what did George see in **_her_**? She really looked at herself in the mirror, and she tried to imagine what George saw.

Yup, it came down to the Girls.

The Boobs.

Well, the lingerie certainly accented them, and the Girls were simply delighted that they were about to manhandled, so they were perky and proud and her nipples were already standing at attention.

God, she looked ridiculous!

She nearly jumped when she heard George knock on the door.

"Are you ok? You've been in there for a while," he questioned.

"I'm ok," she called loudly, then whispered to herself, "I can do this!"

Then Samantha raised her voice, and assured him that she was coming out.

* * *

George nearly swallowed his tongue when Samantha Carter exited the bathroom. She was wearing an Air Force blue nightie and he just couldn't help but stare at her. Lord, she was blessed with a munificent amount of round curves that she was hiding behind that strategically cut baby-doll. A man could drown in her cleavage, and do so willingly. Hell, he was quite looking forward to going down for the third time. 

"What?" Samantha questioned, as she nervously brushed her hair with her fingers. Her shoulders started to hunch, and then she put her free arm over those beautiful, glorious, magnificent breasts of hers to shield them from his sight.

"Oh my good God girl, you're **_beautiful_**," he blurted.

"Really?" Samantha questioned in true, honest disbelief.

"Really," he assured her. "Now, stand up straight, and stop hiding. I'd like to look at you, admire how beautiful you are…"

It took a lot of cajoling and talking sweet, but Samantha soon let him see her in the nightie. Then "Starman" was quickly forgotten, as he led her to his bedroom, gently grasping her hand, before he had sat down next to her on the edge of his bed. Deliberately, he held out his arm, and she just looked at him, with her sky blue eyes faintly perplexed, obviously wondering if he wanted her to undress him.

"Unbutton my sleeve," he commanded in a very soft voice.

Hesitantly, she unbuttoned both sleeves, and he requested that she unbutton his shirt. She fumbled with his buttons, but he didn't murmur a single complaint about her awkwardness, instead, he gently kissed the top of her head which just got her more flustered!

"Help me take my shirt off," George requested, and Sam did so.

Samantha was pulling his arms out of the sleeves when she stopped. He knew exactly sight what had distracted her.

"The first time I show them to anyone is always… nerve wracking," George explained, after he shrugged his long sleeved shirt off, leaving him wearing a short-sleeved black T-shirt.

"I wasn't staring at them," Samantha insisted.

"The eye can not be helped but be drawn to them," George's voice was emotionless as he held out his arms to her. "I will show them to you, so you can realize that I'm nervous about your reaction to them. You tell me to stop, at any moment, and I will. I can sense that you're a little nervous about me seeing you naked. I can close the curtains; turn the lights off, let you hide underneath the blankets, if it makes it easier for your first time."

"But darling, you're beautiful. You **_shouldn't_** hide," he insisted. He pointed at the long, thin, parallel lines that ran from his wrist to his elbow. "These are ugly and repulsive, they represent despair and madness. I so wish that I could hide my scars from everyone…**_especially_** from you."

"But I can't hide them, so all I can do is show them to you, let you touch them, let you understand that they're who I am. Go ahead, touch them."

Carefully, she took her index finger and she gingerly touched his forearm.

"Go ahead. You can look at them. You can touch them. Don't be afraid. You need to comprehend that those ugly, ugly scars are part of who I was, who I am and who I will ever be."

That confession was said in a voice so soft that she almost didn't hear him.

"You must have been…overwhelmed…" Samantha whispered.

"I don't…. really remember. They tell me what I did… and I can see me doing what they said I did… It's like watching the TV….. I don't remember **_living_** through it, though…I…snapped…. And my sanity…. It went on vacation. To Tahiti, I think. Damn thing didn't even send me a postcard in Camp Mental Snap."

George paused, and then he looked at her. He was smiling a crooked smile even as he wiped the tears from her eyes. "I always wished that I had died that day…but…lately…I'm glad I survived…."

"Really?" Samantha questioned softly before they started kissing.

"I couldn't be doing this with you…. Now could I?" George questioned her.

Carefully, he removed her glasses from her face, folded them cautiously before placing them on the nightstand. "Lights on or off?"

"Please don't turn off the lights," Sam decided after a moment.

A lot of gentle touches, softly spoken words and hot, blistering kisses soon followed and then George carefully undressed Samantha.

* * *

A few hours later: 

"So…" George questioned softly. "Was it good for you?"

George had rolled on his side to watch her doze. His question had roused her from the half-doze state she was in, and Samantha sighed as she was luxuriating in the languorous, post coital mood. After they had made love, George had insisted on still **_more_** kissing, cuddling, hand holding and soft whispers, and she had felt… cherished…safe… **_sated_**.

But now he wanted to talk, and she just desired to enjoy that sweet, all encompassing feeling of utter contentment and complete physical and emotional relaxation for as long as it lasted.

"Well…. Was it good for you?"

He grinned lazily at her, and then pulled the covers over his head in a vain effort at preemptively shielding himself from her pillow. His efforts at hiding had the effect of taking all her covers from her so she then thwacked him with her pillow. A few minutes later, her relentless pillow bombardment having ceased as quickly as it had begun, her lover's closely cropped head popped up from underneath the covers.

"Seriously… I really want to know…" His voice took on a wheedling tone. "I sincerely want to know."

"It was… wonderful… and better than I ever dared hope," she assured him.

"I felt you tighten up…at that particular moment…" her lover sighed. "Did it…"

"A little," she admitted.

George softly rattled off a few curses.

"No… no… just a little," Samantha protested. "You were… wonderful. Thank you for being patient with me."

"Patient? I wasn't 'being' patient with you, Samantha."

"**_Understanding_**…about this being my first time," Samantha offered that word carefully, not wanting to injure George's pride, but still wanting to convey how she felt. "How you made sure…"

"Hey…we had this conversation early on, while you were still wearing the naughty little nightie of yours. Remember? Gentlemen bring their own condoms; they don't expect the lady to provide them. They also ensure that the lady comes first…. and that the lady comes **_repeatedly_**… He cleans up afterwards, and most importantly, a gentleman always sleeps in the wet spot, as he made the mess," he reminded her.

"No…it's not just that…you did all the work…and I didn't…" Samantha paused, and then continued, "Get very hands on."

"I wanted you to just relax and enjoy what was happening. If you decide you want to keep seeing me, you'll get more comfortable in touching me," George assured her.

"I want to keep seeing you," she insisted. "I'm worried that you don't… was I OK? Was it good for you?"

George kissed her a few times and then he began whispering in her ear.

"It was… **_fantastic_**… for me… It felt so **_damn_** good to be inside you, girl. I just wish that I was younger, as I'd be ready for another round right about now. But I'm older, and it takes a while to get my howitzer primed and back online."

She giggled at Hammond's naughty streak, and they kissed for a bit.

"Now, do you want to take a shower before we got out to dinner? I've got a spare yukata or three from my tours in Japan, so you can wear one. You'll swim in it, but that way you can dry off."

"Yukata? You were in Japan? What base?" Samantha questioned sleepily while she stretched. "My father was stationed there back in the late seventies."

George paused, and then gave her a white lie. He had first met her father in Japan, when their tours had overlapped shortly. He had been a short timer; had been "partnered" with Jake, who had just begun his tour in Japan, his CO's horseshit attempt at trying to get the newbies familiar with the dos and don'ts of Japanese culture as quickly as possible.

"Stationed there right after we got the hell outta 'Nam," he lied. "So I probably missed your dad by a few years."

Samantha gave him a sleepy smile, and George wished he could stop hearing his conscience yelling, "Liar! Liar! You're a goddamn liar, Hammond!"

* * *

Janet Fraiser was a single-minded woman on a mission, searching for someone in particular at the SGC. Her slightly higher than regulation heels, clicked clacked determinedly through the empty hallways of the SGC while she ruthlessly hunted for her latest prey. 

A new boy toy.

To replace Hammond who had gone to the light side. When she had suggested to Hammond that he pop the Virgin's cherry as part of his plan to enact revenge on Carter's father, she should have realized that he'd be unable to follow her plan.

No, crazy George would instinctively protect anyone that gave him the slightest bit of compassion.

Once upon a time, he had defended her honor. Now, she was nothing more than a cold-hearted bitch that he mentioned to score points with Samantha.

She truly hoped that Hammond was enjoying little Ms. Wonderbread.

No doubt he was being exceedingly romantic to little Ms. Purity, showering her with flowers. Knowing George to be the obsessive compulsive nut job he truly was, the bald wonder had over planned everything; there'd be champagne, flowers, and Barry White playing when he seduced her. Hammond was no doubt, preparing to deflower Wonderbread on a bedsheet that was covered in rose petals. He was probably even **_now_** hand picking the roses and hand positioning the petals on her bed.

Hopefully, the roses had six inch thorns.

The mental image of Hammond bleeding all over the satin sheets while cursing about the eight inch thorns made her cynically laugh.

She shouldn't care that he had gone over to the vanilla side!

She shouldn't!

Yet, God damn her for a complete fool, she did!

What was that term of endearment Hammond had once called her?

A **_black_** widow spider?

Therefore, this black widow spider in Air Force Blue was going to find a new man to enthrall and destroy.

But who?

Not McKay, he was too whiny.

Zelenka?

Too Czech for her, as she often found Zelenka shouting curses in Czech at McKay. If he cried out in the moment of passion, she'd want him yelling in English.

Felger, Coombs? No, no, **_no_**…

Daniel Jackson….

Yes, he was soft spoken, smelled good (a rarity among some of the men of the SGC), and Janet had to admit that she was wondering about his flexible tongue. If Daniel was able to twist it to form strange vowels and consonants in two dozen strange languages, she was sure he was no common cunning linguist.

Just the thought of playing with his diphthong got her panties all wet.

Janet caught him in his office, and he was busy peering over a stack of ancient artifacts. The mold in the room made her happy that she had taken her antihistamines. Intently she watched him for a few minutes, and unbidden the thought of Hammond and his new squeeze came to mind. Then she realized that she really wanted to deflower Jackson.

In his office.

She watched the security cameras for a bit, figured out where they would be and wouldn't be positioned… and then she pounced. Deliberately, Janet sat on the edge of his messy desk, carelessly knocking a few books onto the floor, and making damn sure that she hitched the hem of the skirt up slightly, so it was definitely not regulation length.

Jackson murmured a protest, and then she crossed her well toned legs. His eyes followed the length of her shapely legs and upwards, landing firmly in her cleavage that her deliberately unbuttoned shirt was displaying. His eyes were trapped, and Janet deliberately leaned over to give him a better view.

"I hear linguists make the best lovers, Doctor Jackson," she purred.

"I haven't… heard that…" he squeaked. "Why… do you… say that?"

"Because linguists are oral as hell," she purred before she kissed him.

* * *

"Whoa!" Siler nearly choked on his coffee, and thankfully did not spit it up on several million dollars worth of computer equipment. 

"You know you're not supposed to drink coffee in the control room," Walter Harriman protested in a very long suffering tone. The control room was Walter's private domain, and he took responsibility for it being ship shape and presentable very seriously.

Left unsaid was that Walter shouldn't have been blasting music in the control room, either. But after all, it was a weekend, and it was highly unlikely that General Goof Off would stop by and visit.

"Walt! Close up on CAMERA # 9Z. I need you to verify this."

Walter Harriman sighed, but powerless to resist the excitement in Siler's voice, he zoomed the camera in tight to where Janet Fraiser was busy kissing a rather stunned and non-resisting Daniel Jackson. Daniel Jackson wasn't completely stunned, as he had one hand underneath Janet's skirt.

"In his office?" Walter sighed. "His **_OFFICE_**! On his Desk! That's not very sanitary!"

"Yes!"

Walter then growled in disappointment as he had lost another wager, before he "accidentally" knocked the camera into being out of service. "I bet in the staircase between levels 26 and 25. His office? That's just so… **_tame_**. Janet Fraiser and a desk? The General's desk, hell **_yes_**, but not Jackson's desk."

"I'm rather disappointed also," Siler admitted. "Appears our good Doctor Fraiser is in danger of being domesticated."

The two men looked at each, looked at the blank monitor, imagined at that very moment Janet Fraiser was rather proudly showing her latest victim how flexible and sexually sophisticated she was, and then the two men looked at each other again.

"Naaaaaaaw," they both said at the same time.

"Who won?" Harriman asked.

"Makepeace," Siler admitted.

"He threatened to break your legs again?" Harriman quipped.

"Yup," the SGC bookie drawled. "So I gave him two chances this time. Fortunately, he actually paid for the winning bet."

"That leaves…. "

"Samantha Carter and Colonel George Hammond," Siler stated. "Though no one is supposed to let Hammond know. After he threatened me with joining Hansen on Penguin Watch, the bet wasn't who was going to do Carter but when Hammond was gonna get the home run. Between cracking Hansen's skull by bouncing it off the locker and that, it's obvious Hammond's interested in Snow White."

"I don't think betting on Hammond is a very smart thing to do," Walter reminded him. "He's **_crazy_**."

"Why do you think everyone's giving her a wide berth? If the old man's interested, no one wants to get in his way."

* * *

Janet Fraiser sighed contentedly, with her eyes closed, resting herself against Jackson's desk and she was too tired to do more than make a passing effort at straightening her very messy hair. It had been quite some time since she had sex like what she had just experienced. Earth-moving, solar system-shaking sex with Dr. Jackson proved that linguists **_did_** do it with their tongues. And they did it a hell of lot better with their hands than anyone else, whether general, sergeant, mechanic or whomever she had dallied with in the last few years. 

She managed to rub her hands against her naked skin, enjoying the feeling of the cool air conditioning against her skin, and she could do no more.

Oh God, it had been **_wonderful_**.

Janet hadn't been ridden like that in years.

Even General Jack O'Neill of the glib tongue hadn't been that creative and attentive a lover as Jack O'Neill was completely self-absorbed and focused on his own enjoyment. But Danny boy, oh her sweet Danny boy, he had wanted to make sure she was, from her top to her bottom and every part in-between, utterly satisfied.

Daniel's enthusiasm and sexual imagination must be the result of Jackson's experience with other cultures. No doubt he had read the Karma Sutra in whatever the original language it was in, and like a good little boy, he had memorized it. Normally, she'd know that little tidbit of what the original language of Karma Sutra was, as she had read it several times, but dear God, she was **_exhausted_**.

"Here," Jackson whispered. "Let me get you buttoned."

She again sighed in utter contentment, as Daniel Jackson carefully buttoned her shirt. He was just so sweet, making sure that she was presentable, before he jumped into his pants and made an insincere promise to call her one of these days.

Daniel would never call. He'd just meet her in her office one day, and slip her a piece of paper with his address and a time on it.

Daniel was sliding her panties up her legs, and Janet just sighed, vocalizing her utter contentment once again. Her muscles were just so loose and relaxed, as Daniel had managed to get rid of all of inner tension.

Nothing like a good ride to cure what ailed a girl.

"Janet…" he whispered again. "Can you lift your butt?"

"Don't want to," she whispered. "I'm just so worn out."

"Come on, Janet, we've got the security cameras, I don't want them seeing you naked."

"The camera is broken," she informed him. Janet pointed at the camera to prove her point. "The little red light is off."

He kissed her again, and then Daniel gave her a gentle smile.

"I know this new place; maybe we can go have dinner?" Daniel asked.

"You want to have dinner?" Janet questioned in surprise.

"Yeah, my treat," he insisted, even as he tenderly brushed one curl away from her eye.

"You want to have dinner _**with me**_?" She repeated.

"Well, _ **yes**_. I mean, we just had dessert first, but… I know this great Thai place," Daniel insisted.

* * *

Sara O'Neill rubbed her burgeoning belly and glared daggers at her husband, who was pretending that he didn't notice how truly annoyed the exceedingly pregnant Sara was. She was almost nine months along, and she blamed her expectant condition on Jack plus too much Guinness at a retirement party so Sara was making sure that Jack **_paid_** and paid big. 

"I'm craving Thai food," she announced regally.

"I hate Thai," Jack explained. "The last time I had Gai Pu Khao, and they did the flaming, exploding Volcano Chicken thing, they nearly set me on fire."

"That's because the ambassador saw that you were flirting with his wife," Sara snapped. "Get your boots on, Airman, we're getting Thai."

And Jack O'Neill, knowing that in Sara O'Neill's Air Force, he was the lowest of airman and on the verge of a court martial, agreed that he'd love to go out for Thai. But this time, he was not getting the flaming, exploding Volcano Chicken dish!

* * *

First thing George noticed was that the Thai place was packed. Then he noticed Janet Fraiser and **_DANIEL JACKSON_** were waiting in line. Janet had that smug look on her face that meant she had ridden Jackson hard, hung him up wet and then ridden him some more. Deliberately, he moved his hand away from Samantha, as he had been resting it against the small of her back. 

"There are people from the Mountain here," he explained in her ear. "Remember, we need to keep this **_quiet_**."

"Who is here?" Samantha questioned before she saw it was Janet and Daniel.

"Hello, Colonel," Janet's voice carried over the crowd. "Samantha! How are you?"

It was a disaster in the making, he knew, and he tried not to show his fear. Janet, that damn vixen, gave him a wink that let him know that she knew that he was **_terrified_** over what she'd do, and for now, she was content to watch him squirm.

The two women hugged, and they made a great deal of conversation. Meanwhile, George kept his eye out on the horizon, waiting for the metaphoric massive iceberg to appear, the one would slowly and steadily creep up to the Titanic, and then deliberately sink it, sending far too many innocents to an icy, watery grave.

George finally interrupted the two women's energetic conversation, "Dr. Fraiser, I took Dr. Carter to the firing range…"

Janet blinked coquettishly at him, just to make him squirm, and he continued gamely on, knowing that he was blushing like the fool he was.

"She re-injured her wrist due to the recoil of the pistol," he explained. "You should look at it tomorrow, just to make sure she didn't screw it up."

"Yes, the Colonel wants you grabbing a gun with both hands as soon as possible," Janet said sweetly. "Let me look at it."

"I'll go see about our reservations," George inserted.

Sometimes the hardest lesson in the USAF was to learn when to leave your pride behind and strategically retreat. Now was such a time.

* * *

Daniel followed George to the maître de while Janet examined Samantha's wrist, and Janet waited just long enough to confirm that Samantha's wrist was just bruised, before she grabbed Samantha's non-injured hand. 

"Well?" Janet asked. Her tone was conspiratorial and she bobbed her head in Hammond's direction.

Samantha blushed, and nodded her head.

"**_And_**?" Janet questioned.

"It was **_wonderful_**," Samantha admitted with a rather embarrassed grin. "He was **_so_** patient and gentle with me. And he really enjoyed the camo."

"Doctor Fraiser, Dr. Carter," said an all too familiar voice. "Fancy meeting you here."

* * *

Hammond returned to the bar and he realized that during his brief escape, the iceberg had hit the Titanic, and every hand onboard had been lost. He muttered a quick prayer, whether for those lost at sea or for his own survival, he couldn't tell you. Dinner had turned into a literal Convergence, a meeting of personalities so diverse and so pregnant with past indiscretions and previous wrongs and insults that he was surprised that the windows hadn't blown out due to the emotional pressure that was building. 

It must be his imagination, but he swore he could hear a children's choir energetically singing, "O Furtuna" from _Carmina Burana_.

_O Fortuna,_

_velut luna statu variabilis,_

_semper crescis;_

_vita detestabilis nunc obdurat_

_et tunc curat_

_ludo mentis aciem,_

What the hell were JACK O'NEILL and his wife doing here? Sara looked like she was about to expel the twins on the spot and Janet, Samantha and Sara were busy chatting.

**_Yes_**.

It was the Apocalypse.

Judgement Day.

Armageddon.

Ragnarok, Gotterdammerung!

The damn air conditioning was blowing so hard, that he couldn't imagine that Fimbulvetr, the Norse winter of winters that would proceed Ragnarok could be any colder.

All he needed was the Four Horsemen to ride through the Sawatdee Thai Restaurant, dispelling plague, war, famine and false gods, because as far as he was concerned it was the end of the universe. On second thought, maybe Kali with her bloody sword could dance on one of the tables, while the ad-Dajjal and the anti-Christ did shots while they watched and catcalled obscene comments to the waitresses just to make sure that all the major religions were covered.

The potential for trouble with Sara and Janet in the same room?

He knew damn well that Sara didn't know about THAT particular affair, but he DID know that Sara had threatened to divorce Jack on charges of adultery due to another fling. Therefore, he wouldn't be surprised if Janet did something… and did it big.

That little Napoleonic Dominatrix known as Janet never did anything or _**anyone **_half way.

Siler wouldn't even bother opening his books to place odds on something happening!

He'd just accept bets on how gigantic the resulting disaster would be.

Hiroshima! Nagasaki! The Chicago Fire of 1871! The San Francisco Earthquake of 1906!

Then the maître de, being far too helpful, and no doubt wanting a big tip, arrived to inform him that his table for two was ready, but he'd be delighted to set it up for six people, as that way the others wouldn't have to wait to get a table.

* * *

Janet ended up sitting between George and Jack, a rose between two thorns. She had whispered quickly to Daniel that she didn't want O'Neill to suspect anything about their new relationship, so he had agreed to sit at the opposite side of the table. Sara was at the head, Jack at the other end. George was to her right, and Daniel was directly across the table from her. 

Deliberately, she kicked her shoes off, and she stretched one leg carefully. Yes, since the table was a tight fit for six, she could reach his leg with her foot, and so she began rubbing her foot against his leg. Daniel gave her a quick smile, and moved his chair closer to the table, so her foot was soon resting someplace very nice indeed. His hands began massaging her foot, and she couldn't help but smile.

George and Jack were looking extraordinarily uncomfortable, and the opportunity to raise hell with the two men was just too tempting for their mutual spurned and rejected lover, Janet.

Cast her aside, would they? Hell, she knew their sexual foibles, knew how to get both men's rocket ready to fire in record time and how to keep 'em ready to launch for the longest time, and by God, she'd remind them that she _**couldn't**_ be cast aside so easily.

Janet had a brief moment of doubt and indecision, maybe she shouldn't do this, not with Daniel, her sweet Danny boy, her newest lover who had treated her so carefully,so gently, sitting across the table from her. He had told her that she was beautiful, had spoken soft romantic words in French during the afterglow. But Bernie had been so sweet and attentive in the beginning, and she knew enough that she couldn't trust any man, not even one as sweet as her Danny boy.

Janet then slid her hands under the table. One hand was soon caressing George's brawny leg and her other hand had found its way to Jack's muscular leg. Neither man could protest verbally or physically so she gradually moved her hands higher, while she pretended to peer at the menu.

Deliberately, she squeezed both boys' family jewels **_hard_**. O'Neill straightened in his chair immediately while Hammond inhaled sharply before he gave her a very disapproving glance.

Making sure no one was looking, as everyone else was reading the menu intently and inwardly debating if they wanted their stomach intact after eating, Janet secretively blew Hammond a kiss.

His icy blue eyes narrowed in disgust, and she squeezed him harder.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Title: **9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)_

**_Rating:_** MA

**_Warning:_** Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

_**Pairings:**_

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any and all typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach and have run screaming for the hills. I think that's a compliment?

We left Geek!Girl sitting at a table in a Thai restaurant with a few close friends, George, General!Jack and his wife, along with Daniel Jackson and a rather impish Janet Fraiser.

* * *

George continued to unthinkingly glance at his menu while Janet was relentlessly stroking his … howitzer… with her nimble hand. No doubt she was using her other hand on the General, and her feet were probably in Jackson's lap. Yeah, that was definitely Fraiser's modus operandi. Who else at the table possessed enough sexual self-confidence and carnal brazenness to taunt three men at the same table into climaxing at the same time? 

In front of witnesses, no less.

Oh yes, for Janet, there **_had_** to be witnesses to see how she utterly controlled a situation.

He tried to ignore Janet's persistent hand, as he peered over the top of his menu to watch Samantha, wishing more than anything that it was her hand caressing him under the table, rather than the robotic Fraiser-o-matic hand job. No, instead she had her menu down on the table, and she was reading it. Samantha must have felt him watching her, as she looked up, and her cheeks turn ever so slightly crimson when their eyes met.

Goddamn it, behind those ugly glasses and oversized cardigans, Samantha Carter was **_beautiful_**. She had needlessly fretted that her inexperience would be a major turnoff for him, but her unquestioning trust in letting him do **_whatever_** he had desired had been a major ego boost and had led him towards new creative highs… depths… of sexual techniques.

Yeah, Fraiser's act upon hitting the 'Big O' was a well rehearsed performance, just like her hand that was perfunctorily stroking him. It was only natural, considering how Janet bed hopped as often as she did, that her attitude was a bit jaded. Janet would punctually call out his name after so many minutes of foreplay, writhe uncontrollably and shriek even while she bestowed upon him the requisite claw marks on his back, but Samantha… she wasn't a shrieker or a screamer, a clawer or a biter, she was **_Samantha_**.

Damn, he was going to actually break out in a real smile, remembering how Samantha had responded when he had gone down on her. He had held her hands in his and he had taken his damn sweet time, enjoying every single one of her soft sighs, low moans and feel of her body as she had quivered while he had licked, nuzzled, teased and sucked….

For a moment, he remembered Angie and their first night together, though it was the very height of rudeness to compare two women biblically. George had come to Angie's bed being the far more experienced in their pairing. He had been a strongly built Texan boy who had been guided through his first sexual encounters by a young widow while Angie had waited until she had met him. Vaguely, he remembered that Mrs. Richards had been a damn fine figure of a woman, who had taken a young Texas teenager by the hand and trained him in the basics. Angie, his dear sweet Angie, had then liberated him from his old-fashioned, conformist background and had delightedly taught him that 'twas no shame in physical loving between two consenting adults.

No sexual act was dirty or wrong, not if love, affection, trust and **_respect_** were involved.

There was disgrace and ignominy in his tawdry relationship with Janet, he had to admit. Desperately lonely, George had accepted her rancid leftovers and her picked over table scraps and he had wolfed them down, pretending that it was five-star meal. George had never dared to scrutinize his 'relationship' with Janet too closely, as he had known that he should have been goddamn ashamed and humiliated.

Samantha had a slight smile on her face even though she was just looking at her menu again, and he felt her bare foot begin to rub against his leg. She was doing so hesitantly, and then gradually growing bolder. George knew that he was grinning like the fool he knew himself to be, as he could **_guess_** how nervous she was about being assertive.

She'd be capable of turning men's heads and stopping them dead in their tracks, if Samantha ever developed even a modicum of self-worth. George wanted nothing more than to teach Samantha to stand tall and proud, to stop hiding her hands in her pockets and cringing away from conflict.

Damn it, Jacob had nearly emotionally ruined his daughter by crippling her self-esteem.

But Samantha was stubborn and fighter, and somewhere down deep beneath her cardigans was a woman determined to prove herself. In George's mind, the incident with Angie's handgun had left no doubts. After a series of disastrous handgun lessons from her father, Samantha hadn't stopped trying to learn. No doubt she had first flayed herself raw and castigated herself harshly for failing, but she had continued to study, determined to prove herself.

She knew the rules of handguns cold, sideways and six days to Sunday, all learned, no doubt, to earn her father's approval the next time he had taken her to the range. And Jacob had given up on her, declared her witless and worthless and had gone on to other more 'valuable' things.

Yet Samantha kept on hoping that one day; she'd earn her father's respect.

Meanwhile, Fraiser was still stroking, squeezing and caressing him, and he deliberately moved her hand away. Janet was naturally not dissuaded; the minx was determined to utterly embarrass him, and so she positioned her hand back into his lap.

Fortunately, the waiters came and the assorted misfits at the table placed their orders. He ordered the Gai Ob Pu Kao Fai, as he was feeling a tad bit reckless and he could just about **_TASTE_** the spiritual gasoline in the air. One small spark and everything would blow to Kingdom come, and there was nothing like ordering 'Flaming chicken volcano' to see how hot things would really get.

* * *

Samantha tried not to look at Sarah O'Neill but she just couldn't help it! 

The General's wife was extremely pregnant, and Sam firmly warned her biological clock to stop ticking. When she was younger, Sam had dreamed of having lots and lots of tow-headed kids but she had gradually grown unhappily accustomed to the idea that she'd probably never have them. That not dating for YEARS thing had really put a damper on the possibility of husband and kids. Sometimes when she saw a happy mom with a young kid, the fact that she probably wouldn't ever experience that was like sandpaper rubbing her soul raw.

For a moment, she wondered what George had been like as a father. Had he been stern and strict? Or had he been a push over? Had he been able to tell his kids that he loved them and was proud of them? Yes, remembering how tenderly he had spoken to her when she needed reassurance, Hammond had probably been a devoted, loving father. For the briefest moment, she recalled the pictures of a younger, giddy George Hammond holding his granddaughter. He had been so happy and proud of that little life cradled in his arms.

What would it be like to experience with some… _guy_…, first hand, a love so profound that together they had created **_life_**?

Jonas… Jonas … he had often nastily commented on women who had let themselves go after having kids.

But how would another guy react? Would say… George… be proud of her burgeoning belly? If they went out in public, would he rest his hand on her belly, proudly proclaiming to all that he was the father?

Samantha looked up, saw George glancing her way, and she knew that she was blushing ever so slightly. What the heck was she **_thinking_**? Planning 3.2 kids, a dog and a house with a picket fence on her first real date **_EVER_** with a gentleman just screamed, "SINGLE, WHITE, EXCEEDINGLY DESPERATE FEMALE!" Hastily, Samantha looked back at her menu, pretending that she was debating over what she wanted to eat.

Instead, Samantha was deliberating about her next step. If she wanted those 3.2 kids, it was time to shake off her reputation of 'Little Miss White Bread'. Who wanted a bland, insipid and humdrum girlfriend? She needed to be spicy, a little piquant. Yes, she needed to be a little bit more like the fearless Janet!

**_Be bold!_**

She mentally rummaged through all the Cosmo articles she had industriously read on far too many lonely Friday nights. All of them seemed to preach the need for the successful female to be assertive on every occasion, **_especially_** when her lover wasn't expecting it.

She bit her lip, and tried not to smile too broadly as she slipped her foot out of her shoe. Glancing up, she saw that George had his chin on his hand and he was giving her a slight smile, as though gently encouraging her to be naughty. Rubbing her foot against his ankle, she gradually grew more and more assertive.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before the gasoline spontaneously ignited, all hell broke lose and the four Horsemen, trailing death, famine, despair, plague and other assorted nuclear disasters and holocausts behind them, began galloping through the restaurant. Janet was still stroking him and the rest of the boys. To George's disgust, Jack the lecherous rogue appeared to be caressing Janet's leg causing the minx to simper and sigh. The doctor was making a noticeable, Sarah Bernhardt endeavor to make it appear her 'spontaneous' noises were from her stomach lining corroding, nuclear spiced appetizer Num Sod. 

Meanwhile George's hands remained **_firmly_** on the table.

How could **_ANY_** man cheat on his wife once, let alone repeatedly? His mind boggled at the thought of what little moral fiber General Jack O'Neill, the weasel, possessed, as O'Neill was cheating on his wife, **_in front of her, no less!_** That lack of respect was appalling enough as there were other people who could bear witness to what he was doing, but it was ten times worse, as Sara was **_pregnant_**.

It was utterly incomprehensible to him, as Angie had only gotten sexier when she was carrying.

His mind was a billion light years away, remembering the happiest times of his life when Angie was pregnant out to there, and sexy as all get out, when George came to the conclusion that he had to do something **_dramatic_** to still Janet and O'Neill's wandering hands. By what little hair he still possessed, he **_refused_** to be part of a table that sat silently while Sara O'Neill was publicly degraded and openly shamed by her husband.

If anyone had ever done that to Angie, he would have decked them.

Then again, if anyone had attempted to shame Angie like that, she would have clocked him, to hell with her very pregnant belly.

He never told anyone that he could still hear Angie's voice and that sometimes, he knew that she was speaking to him. To admit to anyone that you were hearing your dead wife's voice was a one way ticket back to Camp Mental Breadkdown. But sometimes, when he wished for guidance, he could hear Angie.

Now was such a time.

_Jorge, eres siempre un romántico y Jack es una deshonra._

Therefore, while the table oowed and awed over his flaming, exploding chicken volcano entree that was merrily ablaze, that was heading his way, carefully being held by a waiter, George Hammond reacted. He clandestinely tripped the waiter. Instinctively, as it would have been far too late to react if he had actually comprehended that the burning delicacy was heading towards Sara and Samantha, he hit the tray hard with his fist, causing it to fly across the table.

Lord, he knew he had some heavenly help from an impish Angie, as there was no way in HELL, he could have deliberately aimed the smoldering poultry dish toward his superior officer. The flying fowl landed right in front of Jack O'Neill and then, teetering on the edge of the table for just a moment, fell into his CO's lap with an audible splat. Jack jumped out of his chair with a rather satisfying squawk even as everyone began throwing their water glasses on the General's crotch. Just to be helpful, Hammond grabbed two pitchers of ice water from a rather stunned looking busboy, and threw the icy-cold contents of one onto Jack's lap. The other he 'unintentionally' poured onto Janet Fraiser's entirely too hot crotch.

There was a moment of absolute stillness in the restaurant, as everyone and their mother were watching the disaster unfold before them.

George, his sixth sense having frozen him motionless as it just KNEW that this impossible situation was going to get much, much worse and he was best be prepared, was damn surprised that there weren't clouds of hissing steam rising from Janet's lap.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop, he wasn't too terribly surprised when Sara O'Neill grabbed the edge of the table and **_hissed_**. Everyone at the table forced their eyes away from Jack O'Neill's flambéed crotch in order to stare at Sarah's budding belly.

In the exceedingly small, sane section of his brain, George couldn't help but wonder exactly **_how_** pregnant the very expectant Sara was.

"When's your due date?" Samantha questioned in a rather strained tone.

"Four weeks," Sara gasped, before she hissed again.

The silence returned and continued to build. The diners at the other tables were still watching the train wreck unfold before them and in fact were so engrossed that several had their forks hovering halfway between their plate and their mouth.

"Twins come early… don't they?" Daniel asked slowly.

"**YES!"** Five voices answered that rhetorical question in unison. Doctor, General, pregnant wife, crazy colonel and freaked out Maître de. **_"SOMEBODY CALL FOR AN AMBULANCE."_**

* * *

After the ambulance left, complete with one burnt General whimpering from the pain and one pregnant General's wife loudly proclaiming that her contractions were merely Braxton Hicks and not to worry, the gang of four made their escape from the restaurant. George tipped generously, from the waiters to the busboys to the stunned looking coat girl. He even slipped an extra fifty to the waiter he had tripped. 

He was glad to have escaped from the restaurant, as he had just known he was about to break out in laughter. Janet had stormed off to her car, looking like a wet, pissed off cat, complete with twitching tail, annoyed hissing and flicking of her nails. Daniel had followed behind her, chivalrously offering Janet his coat, little realizing that all too soon he'd be one of the many men discarded by Black Widow Fraiser, trailing in her wake, much like flotsam and jetsam thrown off the side of a boat.

Samantha had then shyly invited him to her apartment after he had driven her home, and so there he was, sitting on her couch while she grabbed two beers from the fridge. He snickered at first, then worked up to giggling, and soon he was roaring uncontrollably, thinking about how Jack O'Neill had gotten his just desserts… or in this case…a pitcher of ice cold water dumped on his head that did all his thinking. Samantha was obviously perplexed about his reaction, which made him laugh even harder.

He was near tears from laughing so hard and he couldn't stop. Every time he thought he'd stop laughing, George would remember the look of horror when Jack O'Neill thought his pride and joy was about to be flambéed.

His laughter… wasn't **_stopping_**. Yes, the incident had been funny, but not **_that_** funny.

Instead, he couldn't stop laughing.

Lord… he was cracking up, as once again, he realized that he couldn't stop laughing. His heart was racing, pounding, about to explode out of his chest, and George realized that his emotional equilibrium was about to break. All those years, since he was released from the Iraqi POW camp, he had repressed his emotions. No joy, no laughter, no sorrow, no grief.

Laughing had lit the fuse to the powder keg and he couldn't blow out the damn fuse.

O'Neill's look of stunned horror was soon replaced by memories of Angie during her first round of chemo treatments followed by the dark thoughts of that murdering scumbag bastard that had killed his family. He remembered his two daughters begging and pleading with him NOT to scare away their latest beaus and those two beautiful girls that would never ever run to greet him and cover him with the very best type of kisses, those special pawpaw kisses that had been reserved just for him. Those two young men that had taken his daughters from him, but in time, they had become the sons he had never had.

All dead.

Their deaths had left him with nothing but a shattered heart and a distinctively unhealthy yearning that he'd be buried along side of them in a nice little spot in Texas.

The laughter had changed to sobs, and he was weeping uncontrollably, lamenting all that he had lost and would never have again. His life was just so goddamn **_empty. _**All he possessed was a career which was stalled and full of coworkers that despised him for his emotional weakness.

* * *

Samantha was in the kitchen, grabbing two beers from the fridge when she heard George first start laughing. The Colonel had been remarkably straight-faced through out the entire fiasco at the dinner and had kept his head, crisply dispensing orders in his Texas drawl, while keeping the General's possible burns to a minimum and helping Sara O'Neill to the ambulance. 

But now he was laughing.

It was a soft, rusty though infectious laugh that gradually grew louder even as she began to smile and giggle herself. The flaming Chicken in flight entree was pretty damn funny; she had to admit, though no doubt General O'Neill wouldn't agree as the piping hot poultry had landed in his lap. The Colonel was literally guffawing when she returned the living room, and he began roaring even harder at her perplexed reaction. He seemed to make an attempt to stop laughing, but he'd just started laughing even harder.

His chortling slowed and then to her horror, she realized that he was quietly sobbing. George turned away from her as though to hide his reaction. His quiet sobs turned to soul-shredding weeping, and she hesitantly sat next to him on the couch. She put the two beer bottles down on the table before reaching for him, carefully putting her hand around his back, and she tried to reassure him.

"I'm here… I'm here…" Samantha whispered.

He gave no sign that he heard her, but she continued to rub his back.

When his tears finally ceased, George wiped his eyes dry with a rough movement of his hands and he sighed.

"You know, people always talk about laughing until you cry, but that's the first time for me," he shakily admitted.

George didn't look at her when he said that, and he wore a twisted grimace on his face. Far too many people delighted in robbing George of what little pride he possessed, so Samantha let him have his lie, as she could tell that George was deeply shamed by his tears.

"Yes," she agreed. "It was **_extremely_**… funny."

Her calm acceptance of his lie seemed to ease his inner tension as his broad shoulders slumped.

"Thank you…" George whispered.

"Will you be staying the night?" Sam asked hopefully. She didn't want to sound too eager, but damn it, she was eager for another turn at bat. George had been so utterly correct that after she had made love for the first time, she'd be extremely enthused about a repeat.

"I don't think so." The Colonel admitted that slowly, still not looking at her when he spoke. "I think I better go home."

He turned toward her, and he placed his hand on her face.

"It's not your fault," George gently assured her. "Don't you even dare to think it. I know you are thinking it, but I want you to stop. It's just that I don't want to go too fast for you. Best thing for you would be to relax, get a good night's sleep and think about what happened between us. If you still want to see this ugly, spavined mule, you let me know, ok?"

"I want to see you again," she insisted. "I really do."

To her delight, George smiled at her, a real smile, and then he kissed her until she was breathless.

"Then tomorrow, when you see me, you need to treat me like everyone else does at the base," George reminded her. "I don't want anyone suspecting that we're seeing each other."

She began protesting, and he rewarded her protestations with a bitter smile. He placed his index finger over her lips to silence her.

"When Ferretti and Kawalsky make crazy Colonel jokes, you snicker. After Siler talks about his pools, you put ten bucks down on my next breakdown and as soon as Walter whistles 'They're Coming to Take Me Away', you laugh. You don't sit with me at lunch; you don't grace me with one of your dazzling smiles… You treat me with contempt and scorn just like everyone else does at the base."

"I can't do that to you!" Samantha protested.

"I don't want anyone treating you like they do me," George's voice was rough when he disagreed with her. "No one knows about us. No one. When I yell at you tomorrow, it's because I can't treat you any differently than anyone else. When I'm hard…"

"But I really like it when you're hard," interrupted Sam. She then blushed.

Her risqué comment stopped George cold for a moment, before he flashed her a very dirty grin. "Like I was saying, when I'm hard on you tomorrow, it's because I can't let anyone know how badly I want to debrief you on my desk. We'd have a long discussion with plenty of hands on R&D regarding our joint Top Secret project."

Samantha gave him a very shy smile, and blushed again.

"I want you to give me a thoroughly debriefing before you leave," she insisted. "I want to make sure that we go over everything… again… before tomorrow."

When she finished, she kissed him on his lips. Then, when he didn't protest, she deliberately straddled his lap, and kissed him again.

"I want my debriefing, Colonel."

For what seemed like an eternity, George just stared at her. Then he placed his hands around her, pulling her in closer for a kiss.

* * *

After he had thoroughly de-briefed the little minx, he was content to merely lie in her bed and try to catch his breath. They were snuggled together like two spoons in the afterglow, happy enough to sneak kisses and hold hands, when something grabbed his attention. George reached over Samantha and pulled out a piece of paper out of a drawer that Samantha had hastily shut earlier that evening. Actually, he had spied a photo on a magazine cover, so he ended up with the entire magazine. To his absolute complete surprise, it was _Cosmopolitan_. 

He vaguely remembered Angie, complete with a Cheshire Cat grin, reading that trashy rag.

"_Cosmo_?" George questioned.

"Oh, give me that!" Samantha squeaked.

"You read _COSMO_?" George repeated in teasing disbelief, enjoying see Samantha squirm. "All this time I figured that you'd read _Cosmology Today_ rather than _COSMO_."

He flipped open the magazine and began to read.

"George!" His lover protested.

She tried to rip the magazine from his hands, but he evaded her easily, and continued reading. Barking a loud laugh, he began to read one article out loud, "His Butt. What the size, shape and pinchability of those sweet cheeks reveal about his true self,"

George then gave Sam a devilish look. "You pinch my ass, I'm pinching your…"

"I read it for the makeup hints! Please… George… **_don't_**! Please give me back the magazine!"

"Let's see… there are a few pages that are have their corners folded over… let me see…what our apparently not so innocent Doctor Samantha Carter is interested in."

He flipped over to a random page and glanced at the tiny print. George had been truly enjoying the chance to tease her, but after reading the title on the page and seeing exactly what the article was about, he swiftly gave her back the magazine. Samantha was truly mortified that she had been caught having reading the article entitled "Zero to 55, How to get your Older Lover Speeding Past the Speed Limit".

"I'm just teasing you, dear. Please… don't get so upset," he whispered. "I'm sorry that I made you uncomfortable."

"It's only a magazine," she protested.

Yes, George knew that it was only a magazine, but still, it was amazing how fast Samantha dropped that magazine into the wastepaper basket.

"Dear, I don't deserve you," he told her. He gave her a long slow kiss to silence her protests, and then George began stroking her hair. "I told you that you wouldn't have to worry about my enjoyment. Today was all about you. And for me, it will always be all about you."

"I just…" Samantha tried to explain, but again he kissed her slowly to silence her protests.

"If you really want to learn how to make love with an older man, don't read that piece of trash," George tenderly suggested. "Some of those positions they'd suggested are just undoable unless you're a contortionist with a trampoline and I'd be liable to throw out my back. You don't have try to be sexy for me, girl. You **_ARE_** sexy. Even with your glasses. I must admit though, that I especially enjoy your oversized cardigans."

"My cardigans?"

Samantha obviously didn't believe him.

"Yes, because no one knows that underneath your too large cardigan, there lurks the body of a super model, and it's **_all_** mine for the lovin'…." He growled that last bit to her, and she squirmed in delighted embarrassment.

"Thank you," George said in a softer voice. "I was being haunted by some old memories… so I'm glad that the gorgeous super model felt pity for me, and took advantage of this broken down war horse."

Samantha's annoyed grimace for his self-deprecating comment made him stop and think for a moment. Then he propped his head up on his hand, and with his free hand, he grabbed Samantha's uninjured hand.

"I think I've talked more today than I have in the last few years," he admitted slowly. "I showed you my scars…. My physical ones, at least. Tomorrow, you get your wrist checked out by Fraiser, and I'll talk to Siler about him taking over your instruction…"

"Siler?" Samantha teased. "Not you?"

"Yes, dear old Sparky will teach you how to shoot."

"**_Sparky_**?"

"He's a good bookie but a horrible klutz. Usually gets electrocuted every so often. He's overdue in fact." Hammond barked another laugh. "So tomorrow, my place? 7 ish?"

"Sounds delightful," Samantha agreed. She contently snuggled back into the blankets, and she sighed, "You're leaving?"

He nodded his head.

"Now, turn around, girl," he roughly ordered, the effect of his gruff voice ruined completely by a rather lopsided smile. "I don't want you look at my cheeks and tabulating up their pinchability. Is there actually a scientifically formula for that?"

Samantha softly giggled and began explaining the Carter Rule of Pinchability, "You take Planck's constant, multiply it by the Golden Ratio, and using the circumference…"

* * *

The next day, George got to work early, just in the slight chance that O'Neill had taken the day off because of Sara's standing room only, command performance the previous night. He was the de facto 2IC of the base, though Hammond had long since accepted the fact that Makepeace or Reynolds would be running the base before he ever would. Yet, he sometimes wondering how he'd run the base. First things first, George vowed that he'd get everything ship shape and tidy, as O'Neill's lackadaisical attitude influenced everyone on the base. 

To this day, even though he witnessed it on a daily basis, Hammond refused to believe that any member of the United States Armed Force would meander around a base wearing a tank top!

_**A tank top. What's next? Tye Dye?  
**_

Lord, if he ever ran the base, he'd make damn sure everyone wore shirts with sleeves!

To his disgust, O'Neill's pickup truck was in the General's regularly assigned spot.

**_Shit! You're even EARLY today, O'Neill! Couldn't you stay home with Sara for one goddamn day?_**

He caught Sparky in the hallway and had a quick conference with him regarding Doctor Carter's allegedly less than stellar marksmanship. God knows he hated to belittle Samantha, but he knew Siler was the Hedda Hopper of the SGC gossip rumor mill, so Hammond made a few derogatory comments about geeks with guns and flinching females.

"I can't hold her hand while I'm babysitting the rest of them," George growled. "That's where **_you_** come in."

Siler agreed, and before Hammond could finish the conversation, General O'Neill interrupted them.

"Colonel Hammond. Sgt Siler," O'Neill greeted them loudly. "Colonel Hammond, my office, five minutes."

O'Neill didn't wait for an acknowledgement, but instead the base's CO turned toward his office. The General walked away from them, and his stride could only be described as finicky and prissy, an almost mincing gait.

Hammond said not a word, but Sparky had no such qualms. The Sgt. sharply inhaled and then looked at Hammond.

"Is the General walking a little… **_odd_**… today?"

Sometimes having a reputation for being taciturn was rather helpful, especially when one didn't really want to admit to anything, Hammond thought. So he just shrugged his shoulders.

* * *

"Sit down, Colonel," Jack ordered when Hammond finally arrived at this office. "Close the door behind you." 

The Colonel did so, and then waited for him to begin the meeting. Jack delayed speaking for a few minutes, hoping that the Colonel would become uneasy. When Jack finally looked up and acknowledged Hammond, he was frustrated when he realized Hammond's aloof façade hadn't cracked in the slightest.

"I'm sure that you're wondering why I called you into my office," Jack began slowly.

"Yes, Sir," Hammond answered easily.

"Did you …," Jack's voice was at first steady when he began to speak. Then his voice cracked from the stress, "**_DELIBERATELY_** trip that waiter last night so that flaming chicken dish would end up in my lap?"

Hammond stared at him. His icy blue eyes blinked in confusion, and then Hammond spoke.

"Sir? Are you accusing me of purposely and with intent, injuring my superior officer?" The Colonel's voice was composed, and George Hammond appeared to be the picture of hurt innocence. "I instinctively reacted when I saw that the chicken was heading toward your wife. I am sure that you would agree that if would be bad if Sara were to be burned; especially **_now,_** considering the fact that she is pregnant."

O'Neill sighed and then drummed a tattoo with his fingers on the desk.

"I didn't think you did it deliberately, Colonel. It's just right now I'm on pain medication and a lot of silverdene. "

Hammond said not a word, and then Jack dismissed him. The Colonel quickly left the room, and O'Neill continued drumming his fingers on the desk. He was expecting another visitor and he knew that she'd come to him. Janet **_always _**did.

* * *

"You didn't ask him if he did it on purpose, **_did_** you?" Janet cooed from the doorway. "Do you want me to check your burns? Make sure everything is working… properly?" 

General O'Neill made a face at her, and then motioned for her to sit. Janet sauntered into the room, and crossed her legs just so. Her blouse was distinctively non-regulation, as the top few buttons were unbuttoned and her skirt was just a little too short.

She gave a dainty cough and smiled. When that failed to earn a response, she reminded him with a soft, "You wanted to speak to me, General?"

"So… there's a little romance among our geek corps," Jack commented slowly.

Janet, wondering for the first time if O'Neill's obliviousness was actually an act, leaned forward. She noticed without commenting that the General's eyes were firmly trapped in her cleavage.

Damn it, she thought, if O'Neill had noticed Hammond was sniffing around Samantha, her plans would be ruined, because O'Neill wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut. She needed Hammond to become head of heels enthralled with Sam and only **_then_** would she destroy that relationship. If Hammond's relationship with Sam ended now, he'd be upset, she knew, but he wouldn't be 'sitting in the psych center nuts'. He called her a whore and had otherwise belittled her to Samantha, and Janet Fraiser was determined to break him into a thousand and one little pieces.

"Who is experiencing the pangs of geeky love…" Janet asked slowly. "Do I know the lucky couple?"

She was pumping him for information, not wanting to admit anything to the General.

"Dr. Carter and…"

Janet inhaled softly but O'Neill didn't notice.

"Dr. Jackson! I should speak to them, sternly remind them that fraternization is strictly prohibited in this man's Air Force," Jack snickered. "Except if you're me, that is. Then it is strictly encouraged."

"Doctor Jackson?" Janet questioned softly. "Doctor Carter is **_dating_** Doctor Jackson?"

"For crying out loud, Doc! You were at the restaurant last night," the General protested. "Do you think Blondie is dating Hammond? You certainly don't expect me to believe that, and that's far more likely than you dating Danny Boy."

The General barked a laugh, and leaned back in his chair. He moved a little too fast for his own good as he hissed from a painful reminder of his 'war injury'.

"Sometimes I'm so funny, I slay myself," he admitted with a dry laugh. "The very idea of Hammond and Carter? But that's no where near as hilarious as you and Jackson. No offense, but you'd have Jackson screaming for his mummy after a night with you. Pun most assuredly intended."

"What's _THAT_ supposed to mean?" Janet questioned. Her tone was sharp, and she sternly warned herself to keep calm. She couldn't let O'Neill find out about her feelings about **_her_** sweet Daniel.

"Look at him; I doubt he's ever had sex. You'd swoop in; handle that particular matter with your usual panache, leaving Jackson huddled in the corner, comatose and drooling by the time you were done. Come on, Janet. I know exactly who and what you are. Janet Frasier doesn't bother with charity cases," Jack said.

Jack was **_smiling_** when he said that. Even after all the long months of their affair, Jack **_still_** never comprehended when he had hurt her with one of his witty smart ass remarks. It was though she was nothing more than a goddamn punch line!

Jack leaned forward, resting his head on his hands, and he gave her a long, lingering once over. To her surprise, Janet felt unclean. Normally, she just brushed off Jack's lecherous glances and ignored his inane innuendos, but today… she felt soiled by Jack's interest. For a moment, she felt as though Danny's arms were around her, and she could hear Danny's tender voice.

After they had first had sex, Danny had spoken to her in French. She had gigglingly admitted to him that she had taken only a semester or two in high school so she couldn't answer him in kind, let alone understand him, but that hadn't stopped him. Instead, he had gotten more and more effusive.

She could hear him, speaking to her so softly and gently, as though she was a respectable woman.

_Ma chérie, Janet, Daniel whispered._

"I should be back to normal in a few days. Sara's cut me off, so why don't I schedule my physical therapy with you. That way when I'm healed, I can get my hands on treatment…" Jack paused and then he gave Janet his best smoldering 'I'm a sexual volcano' look.

_Tu es pour moi la plus belle._

"Don't you have your appointment book? I forget, are Thursday nights still good for you? Or is that your Charity night for Hammond?"

_Je respire l'odeur de ton corps._

"I still can't believe you actually bed him. One of these nights, you need to tell me why you keep re-inviting monosyllabic Hammond to your bed. You must be doing it for an ulterior motive, some sort of sneaky Janet Fraiser reason."

_Hammond looked uneasy, standing at her front door, as though waiting for her to laugh and slam the door in his face. In one hand, he held a cellophane wrapped bouquet of flowers, and he nervously handed the bright blooms to her. 'I hope you like them, Janet.'_

"You know, like secretly, you're laughing your ass off at Hammond. That must be it! And you just love the fact that he knows how you are, and he still comes crawling over broken glass, every week faithfully, just for a few short, sweet minutes in your bed."

_Her lover's body tensed as she got him to the point where he was almost out of his mind in desire. Only then did she straddle her Texas cowboy to give him the absolute ride of his life. It was the first time George had bedded anyone since he had his breakdown upon learning of his wife's death, so she was determined to give him one hell of a long overdue Welcome Home, Solider. She teased, she taunted, she even yelled, 'Ride 'Em Cowboy!' until George's back arched even as he shuddered and gasped beneath her. Then his body relaxed. 'Thank you,' he whispered. 'Oh, Janet, thank you.'_

"I know! He must be hung like a horse!" Jack laughed hard and the General slammed his hand on the desk as he guffawed.

_Que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dis pas._

"Well?" Jack questioned.

_Tes yeux, j'en reve jour et nuit._

"Can you pencil me in for Thursday?"

_Janet, I'm not getting a divorce after all. Sara's gotten herself knocked up and I can't divorce her. But we can still meet, can't we?_

"I'm extremely sorry, General. I already gave at the office." Janet Fraiser then walked out of his office, not waiting to be dismissed.

To her surprise, Daniel Jackson was waiting in her office for her. He held a takeout carrier with two large cups of Starbuck's Coffee and he gave her a big smile. She barely managed to restrain herself from reaching up and brushing his hair out of his eyes. Really, Daniel could be so much cuter if he got a decent haircut and got rid of those hideous sweater vests. Yes, maybe a nice buzz cut, a leather jacket and some tight jeans, Janet thought.

"I accidentally got two cups of coffee today," Daniel paused, and then realizing how inane it sounded. "Really, it was an accident. I thought why waste it, as you might like some."

"That's so sweet," Janet admitted.

"Ok, it wasn't completely accidental," Jackson confessed. "I really wanted to talk to you after yesterday."

Her heart froze, but she made herself appear uncaring. She reached for the coffee, and took a sip. The coffee was pitch black, without the faintest amount of cream or sugar. In other words, it was dark and bitter, just like her heart.

"What do you want to say?" Janet softly questioned, willing it not to hurt.

"On va chez toi ou chez moi?" Daniel asked. "After work, I mean."

She gave him a shaky smile as he had asked her in French, _Your place or mine?_

"Yours?" Janet requested. "My place is an absolute mess."

"Doesn't matter to me, just as long as you're there," Daniel confessed, before blushing. "Yesterday… that was …. **_Wow_**. Stuff like that usually doesn't happen to guys like me."

"What do you mean?" Janet asked.

"I mean Aphrodite was married to Hephaestus… but…", Daniel continued to ramble on for a few minutes about Hephaestus being a crippled, ugly god and Aphrodite being drop dead gorgeous.

Finally, she had enough. She didn't give a damn about Aphrodite, but if he was trying to tell her something, she wasn't quite sure.

"You think I'm pretty?" Janet finally asked.

"Oh **_GOD_**, yes," Daniel admitted.

"I don't think you're ugly….you're certainly not crippled!"

"Well, I'm not like the other guys here, you know like Major Coburn," Daniel explained. "You know, all the ladies think he's hot."

Coburn was one of her former studs in her stable. A lousy lover and an even worse conversationalist, it had been all about him and what he needed, and after a few disappointing sessions, Janet had never invited him back to her boudoir.

"Don't compare yourself to Coburn," Janet insisted. "You're a far better man that he could ever hope of becoming."

"I wasn't yesterday," Daniel admitted slowly. "It was **_wonderful_**… but I don't want you thinking that I don't respect you."

Janet put her coffee down, and she tried to reassure him.

_I'm used to being treated like that…I'm the whore of the SGC, Danny.  
_

But Daniel managed to speak first.

"You know, some guys, they just like an easy lay. That's just so disrespectful for the woman involved. I mean, yesterday was… **_incredible_**…." Jackson paused, but soon continued. "Oh God, it was so much more than incredible, but I want to take my time with you, and treat you like you deserve. I don't want you thinking that I'm just trying to get into your pants."

Tempted to quip a snarky comment about how she was actually wearing a skirt at the moment, Janet was stunned into speechless by Daniel's next sincere comment.

"You're a lady, and I hope that you'll give me another chance, so I can treat you like you deserve." He looked at her, giving her these sad puppy dog eyes, and then he whispered, "Please…. Please give me another chance, so I can make it up to you."


End file.
